Seven Is A Secret
by Anya2
Summary: In Penance Chris asked Vin "How well do you know anyone?" - a surprising secret of Ezra's past is revealed when a Stage Coach crash brings its passengers to town.
1. Part One

**Seven Is A Secret**  
  
**Part One**  
  
"Aw hell Ez, would ya quit yer bleating? Ya make more noise than a pair of coyotes durin' matin' season!"  
  
Ezra turned to Buck with a slightly scornful huff.  
  
"Mr Wilmington," he drawled pretentiously, wiping his hand across the perspiration that had formed over his usually immaculate brow, "I seem to recall voicing my distaste of manual labour on numerous occasions. If in light of this however, our esteemed Mr Larabee still sees fit to insist that I partake in this endeavour then I only see it as my right - nee, my duty, to make as much commotion about it as I possibly can."  
  
Buck merely smiled in that easy, and sometimes rather annoying, way.  
  
"Ya could've just said 'no'".  
  
Ezra shook his head in disgust and continued to work.  
  
The huge storm that had unexpectedly torn its way through the area a few days ago had interrupted what had been a quiet period for the seven men. The biggest thing they had had to deal with was a bunch of rather inept would-be rustlers who had unsuccessfully tried to raid a nearby ranch. Capturing them had been less than challenging, especially considering that when the felons had seen exactly who was on their heels they had immediately given themselves up. It seemed that the lawmen's reputation had preceded them. In a way the whole affair had been rather disappointing. That was the trouble with living the lives they did. After all a while, you just didn't feel right if you weren't in mortal danger.  
  
Four days later, just when the lowest depths of boredom were beginning to set in once again, the storm had struck. While the town had withstood the fierce wind and torrential rain with relative ease, Chris had expressed some concern about the outlying homesteads. Once all was settled he and Vin had headed off to the ones north and West of the town, while Josiah and Nathan went South and East. Between them they would drop in on all the homesteads in the area, checking on the occupants and giving any help where needed. Chris had said he expected the whole thing would take them a few days, and in the meantime he would leave the safety of the town in the capable hands of Buck, Ezra and JD.  
  
No sooner had the others left than a telegram from Judge Travis had arrived, asking for one of them to accompany him in escorting a prisoner to Ridge City. The man was wanted on charges of theft in another town, and he was to be shipped there by train to face trial. The job wasn't a particularly dangerous one and so JD had gone alone, which left Buck and a rather indignant Ezra to carry out a number of basic repairs to the town.  
  
Their biggest task was to replace a good length of the boardwalk running down from outside the First National to the entrance of the Clarion. It appeared that the wood had already been starting to rot, and in the violent winds it had simply ripped away. The work wasn't too strenuous, and yet Ezra had been complaining from the moment they started. The twenty seconds of silence that had just prevailed had been the longest he had managed all day.  
  
"You know, I really don't understand why I couldn't have attended to Judge Travis's request, and left Mr Dunne here to assist you," Ezra muttered, trying to pull yet another splinter from his delicate fingers. If this affected his ability at the card tables...Well, he'd probably still win anyway, but that wasn't the point.  
  
"Surely he and your good self would have been far more suited to this type of labour," he continued, watching as Buck laid another board down and began hammering it in place.  
  
"Why, ya too good for a bit o' old fashioned, honest-to-God work?" Buck joked.  
  
"No, but this jacket is," Ezra grumbled in reply, brushing the sawdust off of his sleeves and frowning in dismay to see that doing so ruined the finely woven surface of the material.  
  
"Well, if ya dressed proper Ezra you wouldn't have a problem," Buck said, standing to take a swig of water from his canteen.  
  
"And, pray tell," Ezra said, leaning back against the railings, seemingly having decided to take yet another of his frequent breaks, "What type of attire would you class as 'proper'?"  
  
Buck simply shrugged and indicated to what he was wearing.  
  
Ezra looked him up and down with something resembling disdain on his face.  
  
"No offence, Mr Wilmington," he said coolly, "But I would gladly submit to the cruellest of tortures rather than dress in that fashion."  
  
"Ezra," Buck said, hitching up his trousers and bending down to continuing, "Coming from a man who dresses prettier than a lot of ladies I know, none taken,"  
  
"'Prettier'?" the Southerner enquired with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Buck simply chuckled and continued to work.  
  
--  
  
JD parted company with Judge Travis once they safely reached Ridge City and the prisoner was ensconced on the train. He was the sheriff of Four Corners, after all. He should be there protecting the town, especially when they were low on numbers. While he of course had total faith in both Buck and Ezra's abilities to hold their own if a crisis broke out, it was his responsibility to deal with it. He wanted to be there.  
  
After watering his horse, he set off at a considerable gallop. At this pace he could easily make it back to Four Corners by nightfall. Just in time to be nominated for the late watch no doubt, he thought with a wry smile. What with Ezra's gambling and Buck's womanising, he figured much of the night work would come down on his shoulders until the others got back.  
  
The ride passed peacefully enough. The day was pleasant, if a little warm, and the recent storm had seemed to freshen the landscape. It was quite a sight to behold. Many considered this part of the country to be barren, wild and uninviting, but JD felt there was something wonderful about it. Although he couldn't pinpoint exactly what.  
  
It was the studying of his surroundings that allowed him to spot the stranded stagecoach in the distance. Frowning, he pulled out one his twin Colt Lightning pistols and held it ready as he trotted Toby cautiously over. There was always a chance that robbers were to blame for the stage being seemingly stranded, although it was more likely an accident. The storm had made the roads positively evil, and it would be quite easy for a coach to throw a wheel.  
  
Much to his relief, his arrival was met by a lady who looked nothing like a robber. Still, he reholstered his pistol slowly out of habit. He noted with some interest that the lady was very discretely carrying a pistol of her own. Just in case he wasn't as friendly as he looked, he supposed.  
  
"Afternoon, ma'am," he said, tipping his bowler as a greeting, "You folks look like you're in some trouble."  
  
"We could certainly do with a hand," she said, in a soft accent but with a voice full of self-assurance, "The horses were startled by a nest of snakes and the driver was thrown."  
  
JD nodded as he dismounted, trying to attain an air of almost weary understanding. As if he dealt with things like this all the time and he was more than capable of doing so.  
  
"Is he all right?"  
  
"A couple broken bones by the looks of it," the lady said, clearly not willing to give up her air of authority just because of his arrival. The only passengers on the stage had been herself and two sisters who were going to meet with their parents after spending the summer on their grandparent's ranch. Pleasant enough girls, but a little too mouse-like for her. The way they had squealed when the carriage had bucked before coming to an abrupt stop, you would have thought they were being murdered or something. It was an embarrassment really. In her book, women should try and show a little more backbone.  
  
"What we need is some assistance in reaching our destination," she continued as they walked across to check on the driver, who was being attended to by the other women.  
  
"And where would that be?"  
  
"Ridge City. The station there, in fact. Trains to catch."  
  
JD sighed a little. It was his duty to get these ladies safely to their destination, but he didn't want to have to go all the way back there again. He should be in Four Corners where he belonged. Fortunately, sense and reason seemed to be on his side.  
  
"I think you should consider a change of plans, ma'am," he said with a knowing nod, "There's another town much closer. And you could hop on the stage to Ridge City in a couple o' days. It'd be much safer. Try to get there now and you'd have to ride through the night. I wouldn't suggest that in these parts."  
  
The woman looked slightly skyward, clearly irritated by the impromptu delay, but resigned to go with JD's suggestion. She had guessed he would say that but thought it worth the try anyway. Her business in St Louis would simply have to wait.  
  
"Whatever you think is best", she conceded, "You know this area better than I do." She smiled at him, brushing her annoyance aside.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."  
  
"JD Dunne, ma'am," he said, tipping his bowler again, "Sheriff of Four Corners."  
  
"Ms. Annabelle Henderson," she returned before adding, "Four Corners? Is that where we're headed."  
  
JD nodded.  
  
"And you're the Sheriff?"  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"A little young for such a post aren't you Mr Dunne?"  
  
"I manage well enough, ma'am," he replied promptly, just the slightest bit affronted.  
  
She noted his reaction. The remark was obviously some sort of a raw point.  
  
"No doubt you do," she soothed with a reassuring smile.  
  
JD was left unable to comment on that as they reached the injured driver. Bending down to check the unconscious man - hearing the other two women passengers whispering something about the brave man that had come to rescue them - he found that one of the driver's legs was indeed broken. From experience he knew it wasn't too the serious - the leg was not twisted and the skin hadn't been broken.  
  
"Well, we.... we should get this in a splint," JD said, a little hesitantly, hoping he was doing the right thing. Nathan had tried to instil some basic medical knowledge in all of them, but he was not entirely sure how much had gone in.

"Then we can get him back to town."  
  
Annabelle looked at him curiously for a moment, detecting his uncertainty. She was good enough not to mention it though.  
  
"Of course. There's plenty of stagecoach parts we could use. That thing certainly won't be going anywhere again."  
  
JD nodded as he went to get some planks of wood. He was secretly quite glad the lady was so decisive. While he was definitely growing in confidence and wanted to show his independence, JD still found himself looking for the assurance of others at times. It was comforting. Last time he had began to get too cocky, he'd accidentally killed a woman. That mistake was going to make him cautious for a long time.  
  
He glanced up at the sky, the sun just beginning to dip in to the horizon, the shadows around him starting to lengthen. They stretched out, as if reaching for Four Corners which was still some way in the distance. So much for being home before nightfall. Well, at least he'd get out of doing the late patrol.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**  
  
Buck was wandering aimlessly through town for the third time that night. While on watch he mostly took station outside the jail, sitting lazily, guarding non-existent prisoners as the time dragged endlessly on. Every now and again however he would get up and go for a walk. Check out the alleyways and dark corners for trouble.  
  
Anything rather than sitting down and listen to the sounds coming from the saloon.  
  
Sounds of people laughing and talking. Drinking and playing cards. Generally having a good time while he was outside on his own, bored as hell. At least Ezra had been good enough to bring him out a beer. Chris would've frowned over drinking on duty, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And it was as quiet as a graveyard out here tonight.  
  
Following the somewhat surprising gesture of thoughtfulness however, the gambler had long since returned to the tables and hadn't shown any sign of re-emerging, leaving Buck to wallow in a combination of boredom and loneliness. He was a gregarious person by nature and sitting out here alone, waiting for nothing to happen, just didn't suit him.  
  
Part of his time was filled in by wondering yet again when JD would be back. His ride with the judge should have been completed early this morning, and he knew JD would've simply turned round and come back again as soon as he could. He should have been here by now. He knew the kid was more than capable of taking care of himself, but he couldn't help but worry. Ever since they'd met he'd felt somewhat responsible for the boy, and if anything should ever happen to him he would take the blame too.  
  
Fortunately, just as these depressing thoughts entered his mind, he rounded a corner onto the main street and saw the man in question dismounting just outside the livery. There was a small instant of relief before he rapidly noted that three women accompanied the kid.  
  
He was about to decide that JD had gotten real lucky, when he noticed an man laying over the saddle of one of the horses, either unconscious or dead. Maybe it wasn't luck after all...  
  
Striding over there to meet him, Buck looked over the three women with a trained eye. Two were clearly sisters. Pretty, but the preaching type by the look of it. Mousy and a little weak-willed. Definitely wouldn't last a harsh winter out West. The third woman was older - probably early thirties. It was she who brought an impish gleam to Buck's eye. The lady certainly was a mighty fine sight, especially on this barren night. Long dark hair, deep, dark eyes, and curved in all the right places. There was something about her - an air of spirit, a thoughtful gaze, a passion - which made her stand out from her two companions.  
  
"Good evenin', ladies," he said, tipping his hat as he joined them, "Looks like you were in a bit of bother."  
  
"Buck," JD said, pleased and just a hint relieved, "Good. You can give me a hand."  
  
Intercepting him before he could introduce himself to the lady, making Buck glare in annoyance, JD grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the unconscious man slung over the saddle.  
  
"Stagecoach crashed. Driver got knocked about a bit. Could ya take him upstairs to the clinic for me?"  
  
Buck looked a little annoyed. It wasn't really the job he was looking for. Comforting the damsels in distress was more his style.  
  
"What ya gonna be doin'?" he asked, suspiciously.  
  
JD grinned, preening ever so slightly, "Said I'd find these lovely ladies here some accommodation over at Virginia's."  
  
The two sisters giggled and whispered to one another. Buck rolled his eyes at the rather smug look on JD's face.  
  
"I ain't no doctor, JD," Buck said, shaking his head, wondering if he could change his mind.  
  
"He only needs the splint changing," the third of the three ladies intervened from behind, as she walked over and handed JD the reigns of her horse, "With your friend's help, I could do that quite easily."  
  
'That's more like it', Buck thought, suddenly a little more eager to play nursemaid.  
  
JD watched as the moustached man turned on the charm.  
  
"Well I'd be delighted to help in any way, ma'am," Buck said, with a smile, tipping his hat at her.  
  
Annabelle noticed the unmistakable flirtation in his manner but let it pass without reaction, "That would be wonderful. I'm sure the driver would be most grateful, Mr...?"  
  
"Wilmington. Buck Wilmington at your service, Ms....?" he said, smiling half way between warm and welcoming, and seductive.  
  
"Annabelle Henderson," she returned with a nod.  
  
Buck's gaze flickered downwards momentarily before returning to her face, "Would that be Miss Henderson?"  
  
"Yes, it would."  
  
"Well, then Miss," he said, with a grunt, pulling the man off of the horse and into his grasp, "Why don't we go help this fella here while JD takes your things to a room. He's mighty good like that."  
  
JD rolled his eyes as he went to start collecting the luggage the women had brought with them. The two sisters seemed to have packed as if they were expecting some great disaster to befall their home and didn't want to lose anything. Fortunately for himself and the horses, Annabelle travelled more lightly. When he had commented on the fact, she simply explained that she moved about a lot and hence found it cumbersome to carry too much.  
  
JD sighed as he watched Buck and Annabelle heading up the stairs to the clinic. At the top she held the door open to allow him to carry the man through and they disappeared inside. JD then glanced towards the two women who giggled and talked secretly again as he looked at them. He smiled falsely, the expression immediately fading from his face as he turned back to the small mountain of luggage the horses had somehow managed to discard on the floor as they had stopped. How did he always end up with all the bum jobs?  
  
--  
  
"Ya done?" Buck asked, his voice muffled against the material of the man's stinking coat as he held the guy in position, allowing her to secure the splint in place.  
  
'Why do I always get the bum jobs?' he thought to himself as he tried not to breathe in too deeply for fear of passing out or throwing up from the aroma. Wouldn't do his reputation any good in front of the lady.  
  
"Yes, you can put him down," she said, stepping away.  
  
Buck released the man, trying to be gentle but quick at the same time, wanting to get away from that smell. He brushed his hands against each other as he went to join Annabelle, who was rolling the sleeves of her blouse back into place.  
  
"First rate job you did there, Miss Annabelle," he said with a nod, "Ya ain't some kind of doctor, are ya?"  
  
She smiled slightly and shook her head, "No, not in the slightest. But I do have two accident-prone elder brothers. That splint is the product of years of experience."  
  
Buck chuckled, "Heck, boys'll be boys, won't they?"  
  
"They certainly will," she replied, stifling a yawn.  
  
"Gee" Buck said, shaking his head, "Where are my manners? Ya gotta be tuckered out. Why don't I show ya over ta Virginia's?"  
  
He held out his arm and she took it without hesitation. He was a nice man. Friendly and open. Her woman's intuition told her that he was harbouring hopes of a more intimate relationship which was something that certainly wasn't going to happen. But she enjoyed his company and it couldn't hurt to spend some innocent time with him if she had to stay in this little town for a day or two.  
  
They walked across to the hotel, chatting comfortably about nothing in particular. Annabelle expressed some concern at the stagecoach driver being left alone all night, and Buck promised he'd go back and keep a watch over him. Just outside the hotel, they ran into JD who was looking more than a little jaded after the exertions of hauling all that luggage up two flights of stairs.  
  
"Everythin' all right?" JD asked, quickly, before Buck had a chance to start teasing him, "Driver okay?"  
  
"Should be, thanks to Miss Annabelle," the cowboy said, patting the hand that was still looped through his arm, "This lady's a special one, no doubt about it."  
  
Annabelle smiled a little wryly, removing her arm from his grip, "You're too kind, Mr Wilmington. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me. Nothing sounds more inviting than a cosy feather bed."  
  
"Night, ma'am," JD said, nodding, "Miss Virginia will show you your room."  
  
"And tomorrow maybe ya'll let me show ya the rest o' the town," Buck said with a twinkling grin, "Since we're gonna have the pleasure o' your company for a few days ya might as well get ta know the place. Mebbe a few o' the people."  
  
Annabelle smiled, "Couldn't hurt, could it?"  
  
And with that she disappeared inside.  
  
JD stood, hands on hips, shaking his head in scolding at Buck whose face was plastered with a satisfied grin. The cowboy just shrugged innocently when he caught the look.  
  
"So," Buck said as the pair of them walked across the street towards the jail, "Interesting day you had there. Those two girls seemed pretty enamoured wit' ya. What is ya secret?"  
  
"Don't start, Buck," JD said, shaking his head, "Just don't. I'm too tired."  
  
Buck chuckled, "I'm just sayin' - all that whispering an' gigglin' - that's what girls do. And what wit' ya bein' their hero an' all...."  
  
"Stop it!" JD protested, blushing ever so slightly.  
  
"As long as ya leave Miss Annabelle alone," he said, nodding in approval, "That's one fine woman an' I saw her first."  
  
"Well, actually-", JD began with a small smile.  
  
"Don't start wit' me," Buck interrupted, "I'm older, wiser an' better looking than ya. Ya stick ta the girls and leave the real women ta me."  
  
"Aw, Buck," JD said with a shake of his head, "You don't really think you've got a chance there do you? She's a lady, not some dime store floozy."  
  
"She's got a spark of adventure 'bout her. Looks like she'd be up for a little fun if ya catch my drift," Buck said with a thoughtful nod, "It's 'shame she's married."  
  
JD's eyes widened in a look of surprise, "Married? But she said she was 'Miss' Henderson."  
  
"An'?" Buck said simply, "She were lying. She were wearin' a weddin' band."  
  
JD frowned. Trust Buck to notice that. Not that it often bothered him. By all accounts he'd had to run from plenty of irate husbands in his time.  
  
"Why didn't she tell us?" JD pondered aloud.  
  
"My guess?" Buck said with a shrug, "California widow."  
  
"Huh?" JD asked, confused at the unfamiliar term.  
  
"Separated but ain't divorced," Buck explained, "Ya get a lot of those round here. Husbands left to head out West an' never came back. Too much to distract 'em."  
  
JD didn't like that. Annabelle seemed like a good woman. Smart and interesting. Not to mention pretty.  
  
There were some things in this world he would never understand.  
  
--  
  
Ezra began to stumble as soon as he closed the door to his room and left the world behind him. In public he could be as sober as a judge, but in private he had no need to keep up pretences. He was quite nicely drunk.  
  
Unlike some men, Ezra never over-indulged for pleasure. He only seriously drank when he was feeling a little down. His sharp mind had a horrible tendency to be active when he most wanted it to rest in ignorance and the only solution he had ever found was alcohol. The added bonus was he would be so busy feeling ill and sorry for himself the next day that it wouldn't leave him any time to dwell on the more unsavoury episodes of his past that had turned him to drink in the first place.  
  
He tripped over to the bed, happening to catch a glance of what appeared to be Buck and JD walking across the street below. You could recognise that bowler across the distance of the Grand Canyon itself.  
  
JD - he'd been off on some mission, had he? For the Judge. Something to do with a prisoner. When had he got back? Ezra wondered if this was the first time he had seen the young man since his return, or whether or not he just couldn't remember a previous meeting.  
  
He shook his head, deciding he didn't care. He was back, he was in one piece. Everything else was just useless facts cluttering his already busy mind.  
  
Dropping ungracefully onto the bed, he was careful not rip any buttons as his uncoordinated fingers removed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt.  
  
The task took some effort, but finally he was free to collapse into his bed. Ezra groaned as the world moved nauseatingly. He was going to feel awful in the morning. Why did he insist upon making himself suffer just because of an insignificant date in history?  
  
Well, perhaps his birthday shouldn't be dismissed as insignificant. Just inconsequential. As a small boy his aunts and uncles had tried to get him to celebrate it, but he had never really been interested. Being an idealistic child, he had only wished for his mother to come and collect him again. And, since that had never happened, he had quickly become disillusioned with the whole concept of birthdays. Besides, what was the sense in celebrating getting older? Birthdays were only a stark reminder that one's time on this world was limited. That he would age and die. It was not something he was looking forward too, and so he felt no need to revel in its inevitable approach.  
  
Then, pray tell, if it meant so little, why did the occurrence of his birthday place him in such a state of misery each year? It wasn't as if anyone here even knew about it and he was forced into false jocularity. He could quite easily forget the matter entirely. And yet he always dwelled.  
  
He shook his aching head, the pounding made worse by the confusion of thoughts clambering through it all vying for attention.  
  
Grumbling to himself about the merits of poker over life - poker was far more clear cut - he rolled over and determinedly told himself to sleep.


	3. Part Three

**Part Three  
**  
The next morning was like many others here. Sun blest and warm. The town was bathed in the amber glow of the early morning sun, giving it a homely, friendly look. Annabelle walked over to the window as she swung her hair over her shoulders and began to brush it. Her busy arrival last night hadn't really allowed her to get a look at Four Corners.  
  
Glancing over the streets below, the place seemed to be a rather unremarkable little town, much like many of the others she had visited since coming out West. Families, labourers, cowhands and the occasional gunslinger living in as much peace as could be expected in these wild territories. It certainly had potential, and given a few years and a few wealthy investors, it could easily grow to be a wonderfully successful settlement.  
  
Her sharp eyes spotted Buck and JD walking across the street. The older man was laughing at something and the younger one was scolding him for doing so. She smiled. They certainly appeared to be quite a double act.  
  
Buck happened to catch sight of her at the window, and flashed her a dazzling smile, tipping his hat in greeting.  
  
Annabelle waved quickly before stepping back out of sight. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she clipped her hair up behind her head with swift, practised hands.  
  
Mr Wilmington certainly was a handsome, relatively good man, with a cheerful disposition. And his obvious attention was somewhat flattering. If only the situation were different perhaps he might have stood a chance. In a way it was rather disappointing.  
  
She smiled, a little sadly. However different she was from many of the women she'd ever met, her heart would always somehow triumph over her head. Something she found most disconcerting.  
  
--  
  
"Mornin' Miss Annabelle," Buck said, stepping up to her as soon as she had exited the hotel. He took a quick perusal of her form. The travelling clothes she had worn yesterday were replaced by a lovely looking ensemble of leaf green skirt and Basque style bodice, accompanied by a white blouse. Said something about her - practical and yet pretty. Interesting lady.  
  
She smiled in return, realising that he must have been waiting for her. Well he was persistent, she'd have to give him that.  
  
"Mr Wilmington," she greeted with a nod, "I trust you don't have bad news about our pungent friend."  
  
"Na," he said with a shake of his head, "He's gonna be right as rain. Tossed an' turned a bit durin' the night, but he seemed okay. The doctor'll be back later today and I'll give him a quick look-see before then. But for now that leaves me free ta give ya that tour I promised."  
  
'And would that include a in-depth look at certain secluded spots and haystacks?' she thought to herself. Indeed the man was incorrigible. Part of her hated the idea of spending an entire day staving off his affections, and part wanted to entertain them. Deciding to go for polite, lady-like conversation, she sent him a look of some concern.  
  
"But Mr Wilmington, you can't have gotten much sleep last night. Don't feel obliged to deprive yourself of some rest for my sake."  
  
Buck almost laughed. Since when had he ever let losing a bit of sleep stop him in his pursuits? Hell, they were the cause of most of his losing sleep.  
  
"Trouble is," he grinned, all charm, "I do feel obliged. I made a promise to a lady."  
  
Her reply was accompanied by a playful and somewhat mysterious smile, "And since when did I make pretensions of being a lady?"  
  
"Well then," Buck replied easily, "I made a promise to a mighty fine woman."  
  
"Again," Annabelle said lightly, "You can't say that with any degree of certainty."  
  
Definitely had some spirit in her, did this one. Buck categorised the women he made a play for into two categories. Lilies and roses. Lilies were delicate girls, shy and sweet. Much like the other two who had arrived with JD last night. Roses were no less beautiful, but underneath they had thorns. Tough and wilful, and if you weren't careful you'd get stung. Annabelle was definitely a rose. Inez was too. And like that Mexican senorita, Annabelle seemed determined to lead him a merry dance that went nowhere. Well Buck wasn't a man to be so easily defeated. He put the charm onto full tilt.  
  
"Maybe not," he said with a shrug and a chuckle, "But my eyes don't lie. Yer beautiful - an' I swore to myself that I'd never let a beautiful lady down."  
  
She wasn't so naive that she didn't pick up on the implications of that sentence. Despite what she had said, however, she did carry the charade of being a lady when it suited her and it wouldn't be the done thing for her to mention it. Instead she just took hold of Buck's outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her off on a tour of the town.  
  
He gave her the full works, everything from the hardware store to the Clarion to the livery. He noted with some interest the way in which she took things in. Something in her manner was almost calculating - as if she were storing away the facts that may be of some importance to her. It just made him more interested in who she was, if just the smallest bit concerned about her motives. After all, he knew nothing substantial about her.  
  
The saloon was their final stopping point.  
  
Buck began to comment that a lady such as herself shouldn't really be going into this kind of place, but she interrupted him immediately. She said she had no objections to going inside - reputations were only important to people who cared about them, and life was far too short to worry yourself silly over what was seen as proper. Besides, she professed that she had acquired a taste for card games and perhaps it would be a pleasant means of chasing away what was left of the morning.  
  
Buck smiled. He liked her. Not quite enough to consider revising his vow of bachelorhood yet, but she had a spark about her which would keep a man interested. True, she didn't seemed to be quite the pure bred lady she first appeared to be, but on the flip side that meant she weren't no prune faced choir singer either.  
  
Entering the saloon, they found JD sitting by himself at the table, indulging in one of his favourite past-times - a dime novel. Since coming to Four Corners he had quickly learnt that there was a wider chasm between fact and fiction than he could have possibly imagined. In his books, the good were good and the bad were bad. The heroes always won out in the end and justice prevailed. Reality wasn't quite so clear cut and that complicated things to an extent he had initially found confusing. While the others seemed to take everything in their stride, JD had often found himself angered, amazed, shocked or frightened, even when everyone around him was perfectly calm about the situation. They didn't teach you how to be like that in the books. Still, it didn't hurt to pander to a bit of escapism every now and again.  
  
The young man seemed a tad perturbed to be dragged away from his story, but was willing to play a hand of cards or two when it was suggested that they join him. Buck pulled out a chair for Annabelle, and the three of them fell into a companionable conversation as they began to play.  
  
Buck should've known that trouble was brewing when she produced a packet of Stutz playing cards from her pocket. They were the same type Ezra used - had to be a bad omen.  
  
He was proved undoubtedly right when she proceeded to win every last dime of the little amount they had on them within just a few hands of poker. Buck blamed it on the fact that he was relatively unfamiliar with the unusual version of the game she had suggested, but he knew it was a pure lack of skill that had let him down.  
  
Annabelle smiled as she raked in her winnings. "How about we play simply for fun, hmm?" she asked with an undoubted trace of humour in her voice.  
  
"Well, I ain't got anything else left to play for!" JD exclaimed, clearly a little amazed by her proficiency.  
  
She laughed lightly at the young sheriff. A few more years and he would be a fine man, no doubt. And would make an excellent husband for some lucky young thing. One of the traits Annabelle prided herself on was that she was a superb judge of character. It didn't seem to take her long to get a good sense of a personality. To her, JD Dunne appeared to be young, somewhat naive and inexperienced, but eager and willing to learn. He also wore his heart on his sleeve, his every emotion and thought expansively on show. It was a rather refreshing sight in these cynical days.  
  
Realising she was starring at the young sheriff, she shook her head, clearing away the thoughts.  
  
"I'll be dealer this time," she announced, picking up the cards and shuffling them with expert and dexterous fingers.  
  
Buck watched her skill with some appreciation and nodded, realisation beginning to dawn. He'd been had.  
  
"I take it you ain't an amateur at the card table," he commented, indicating the rapid finger work that his eyes could barely keep a pace with.  
  
"I grew up on a gambling ship," she admitted, her smile widening, "A steamer that went up and down the Mississippi. My father owned it. He taught me how to play."  
  
"And you didn't think we'd might like to know this before we put our money down?" Buck said with the raise of an eyebrow.  
  
Annabelle shrugged lightly, "You didn't ask," was her simple reply.  
  
To which the cowboy chuckled.  
  
"Well you're damn good. Only know one other lady who can play like you an' she ain't the type o' woman you'd wanting ta be fallin' asleep around. Ya never know what might be missin' when ya woke up!"  
  
Annabelle smiled knowingly. There were probably a few people out there who would say the same about her. She didn't consider herself a criminal, but she had in her time crossed some people who more than deserved it. Unfortunately for them she had discovered herself to be rather adept at it too. And, of course, she had loved every last minute of it.  
  
She guessed that that had also been a product of her father. The ship - known as El Puerto, meaning the 'harbour' or 'haven' depending on who you asked - had become rather well known in professional gambling circles. When he had brought it, his ambition had been to create a place where only honest games went ahead and cheating was outlawed, punishable by being rather unceremonious tossed overboard. As Annabelle and her brothers had grown he had taught them every trick he knew. Every way he had ever discovered of manipulating the cards to your advantage. And in turn she had - like her father - put this knowledge to use in spotting the cheats. Then she would choose whether or not to expose them or play them at their own game. There was nothing so satisfying as cheating a cheater. Their dumfounded faces as you won was truly a sight to behold. It was ironic in a way that the family who abhorred cheating most profoundly were probably some of the best at it in the world.  
  
Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. In public, they spoke out against cheating, but she knew how things had really happened. Her father had been a remarkable cheat, with an penchant for the occasional con as well. He had been shrewd enough however to leave his reputation intact and spot a wonderful opportunity. Gambling without cheating had turned out to be a gold mine for the family.  
  
"I've met the type," she replied, a little evasively, dealing out two cards to each of them and laying the pack to her left, "On my father's ship and in the gambling hall I once owned with my husband."  
  
Buck and JD shared a quick look, which did not go unnoticed. JD appeared a little hurt at her seeming deception. For a small moment she thought that perhaps he had harboured some sort of attraction towards her, but she dismissed this within a blink of an eye. This boy seemed to attach himself to people too readily. He should be used to a let down or two by now. Clearly however he was still shocked by her small betrayal.  
  
Buck was a harder man fathom. His general appearance was always open, but somehow he still seemed to hide his true feelings. By the slow, understanding nodding of his head, it appeared as if he had expected that revelation to come. Subconsciously she played with the emerald wedding ring that must have given her away to him. Why she still wore it was a mystery to her. The more time that passed, the more meaningless it got. She had never been one to be sentimental nor have her head in the clouds, but the reality of her situation was still refusing to force itself upon her. Almost every morning she twirled it in her fingers, contemplating whether or not to wear it. Then some instinct would take over and she would plant it firmly on her finger and not give it a second thought until she took it off later that night.  
  
"So," Buck said, in a seemingly offhanded manner, returning her from her thoughts, "Yer married. I thought ya said it were 'Miss' Henderson."  
  
"Yes it is," she explained coolly, without any hint of remorse at having effectively lied to them, "It's been so since he died."  
  
JD felt a touch guilty. He had just started to think badly of her before that.  
  
"Oh, gee, ma'am," he said quietly, his young face full of remorse, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Annabelle warmed slightly at the sympathy she saw in him. He didn't even know her and yet he reacted so warmly towards her. It was rather unexpected in the world that she had gotten used to as so harsh. In her experience people were generally out to do you over in any which way they could.  
  
"Thank you, Mr Dunne," she said gently, "But it was a long time ago."  
  
Buck recognised something familiar in that.  
  
"The war?" he asked, purely on gut instinct.  
  
She nodded and he left it at that.  
  
--  
  
Ezra walked down the creaky wooden steps with a renewed vigour. The alcohol enhanced misery, which had consumed him so effectively the night before had become nothing more than a hazy memory, and he had promptly returned to his usual jovial self. Life was in too little supply to spend it in a pointless state of melancholy. Especially when there was money out there just waiting to won.  
  
He moved himself off of the last step with a grace most ladies would be envious of and adjusted his cravat. He walked over to the bar where JD was picking up two pitchers of beer.  
  
"Well, good morning to you, Mr Dunne," he said brightly.  
  
JD looked at him with a slight frown. Ezra usually wasn't this cheerful when he got up, even when that happened to be at eleven in the morning. He was used to seeing the gambler spending the minimum of an hour complaining about how early it was. It made him wonder what he was up to.  
  
"Everything okay?" JD asked with a slight hint of concern.  
  
Ezra shook his head, twirling his hat in his fingers.

"Just because my mood is considerably less dour than is usual, it certainly doesn't mean anything is amiss. In point of fact," he said, slapping JD on the back so hard that some of the beer spilled from the pitchers, "I am feeling rather jovial today. Now all I have to do is find some willing opponent to test the whim of Lady Luck against."  
  
"Well," JD said with a smile as he began to walk back over to the table, Ezra following, "Got the perfect one for ya right here. I'll warn ya though Ezra - she's more than meets the eye."  
  
That would be something he'd definitely like to watch. Annabelle was a good card player and it'd be interesting to see how her skills compared to Ezra's. JD used the Southerner as a benchmark. Anyone who was better than him had to be one of the best.  
  
Ezra was about to enquire who JD was talking about when he spotted the lady sitting at the table with Buck, the two of them chatting with some intimacy it appeared. At that very moment, the cowboy reached up and pulled a stray strand of grass out of her hair, lingering a little longer than he really should.  
  
For a moment JD swore he saw a flicker of reaction on Ezra's placid face, but if the mask had slipped it had only been for a moment.  
  
"Yes, Mr Dunne," he replied in a quiet, even voice, such a change from the boisterousness of a moment ago, "She certainly is."  
  
JD was about to ask him what was up, but Ezra simple continued walking without another word. He stopped at the table, just behind Buck and Annabelle.  
  
The cowboy was currently recalling an amusing anecdote about how he'd once helped a jilted young lady get her revenge on the man in question.  
  
Annabelle laughed brightly, as he reached the conclusion, "And exactly how long did it take for him to get rid of the delightful smell of cattle manure?"  
  
Buck's grin widened at the memory, "By all accounts, 'bout a week. Didn't make him very popular with any of his mistresses."  
  
"Yes," Annabelle said with a nod, "I can see how that could cause him to lose his charm."  
  
Buck went to agree with her, but was beaten to it.  
  
"Quite true, madam," Ezra interjected from behind, his voice icy in its formality, "Although it appears as if you have lost none of yours."  
  
Annabelle looked horribly startled by the sudden voice, but managed to maintain some degree of composure as she rose and turned to face him.  
  
"Or at least," Ezra added, a sudden venom springing into his tone as his eyes set themselves on her face, "Mr Wilmington here doesn't seem to think so. In fact, he seems quite enamoured with you."  
  
There was silence for just a short, tense moment.  
  
"Well, sir," she said evenly, any of the shock she had exhibited seemingly having been knocked out of her by his manner, "There really is no need for such a lack of decorum. The matter of who I am and am not permitted to talk to has long since been taken out of your hands."  
  
"Not according to the law," Ezra replied stiffly, clearly riled.  
  
"Ah, but you were never really a wonderful advocate of that, were you now, Mr Standish?" she countered with soft spoken malice.  
  
There was a stand off of furious glares and Buck felt the need to intervene. Not only because he was worried about what they'd do, but also because he was dying to know how they were acquainted.  
  
"So," he said, with a brightness that didn't really fit the situation, "I take it you guys are old pals."  
  
There was another short moment of silence and glaring. Buck wondered whether the pair of them had heard him, or were just too busy shooting daggers at each other to notice.  
  
It was Ezra who spoke up first.  
  
"Indeed we are acquainted, Mr Wilmington," he said in a tone that bordered dangerously on mocking, "This charming young lady and I have quite a history together."  
  
Buck and JD frowned, wondering where this was leading.  
  
"Gentlemen," Ezra continued, "I'd like you to meet Annabelle Standish. My wife."


	4. Part Four

**Part Four  
**  
"Looks quiet," Chris commented to Vin as the pair of them dismounted at the livery.  
  
"You say that like it's a good thing," Vin said with a small half smile.  
  
Chris chuckled slightly at the sentiment he shared. Quiet - great for the town, but not so great for the seven of them. It was surprising just how quickly they could find themselves bored when the bullets weren't flying. In a way it was a little disturbing. They should relish these moments of peace and tranquillity, but instead they bemoaned them. They actually preferred the danger and death.  
  
Perhaps this was what happened after a while. He couldn't deny that he enjoyed the rush of excitement that he got when they were chasing the criminals or slugging it out in a gun fight. And the longer his life contained these bursts of danger, the more he seemed to want them - crave them almost. Part of him believed that it was only in these short instances that he was truly alive. The rest of the time he was just a shadow, waiting to be activated when the next life or death situation came to pass.  
  
He'd been like this since Sarah and Adam had died. At the time he had told himself it was fine to live this way. That eventually he would snap out of it. But he hadn't yet and whilst his friendship with the other six had gone some way towards bringing him back to enjoy the thrills of living, rather than the exciting possibility of death, he still wanted the danger. He didn't think he could ever change now. Which, in a way, was a very sad thing.  
  
"Or maybe not so quiet," Vin muttered, nodding at Buck and JD who had come to meet them. The pair of them were chatting together, clearly agitated about something.  
  
"He should've told us," JD was saying with some distress.  
  
Buck shrugged, obviously trying to remain philosophical about whatever was bothering their youngest member. Even so, it was clear that something was troubling him too. There was an uncomfortable look in the affable cowboy's face that he seemed unable to hide.  
  
"A man's past is his own business," he said stoically, "Ya should know that by now."  
  
"He should've told us," JD repeated again with an almost angry shake of his head, as they stopped by their newly arrived comrades.  
  
"Hey boys," Vin greeted slightly cautiously. There was a big part of him that didn't want to know what was going on. Sometimes ignorance was the preferable state to live in.  
  
"What s'up?" Chris asked, going straight for the jugular as Vin knew he would.  
  
"Oh, the usual," JD said with a sarcasm that was so unusual for him, "Prisoner to be escorted, stagecoach crash, meeting Ezra's wife..."  
  
For the first time since JD had met him, Chris actually looked shocked.  
  
"Wife?" he exclaimed, wide eyed.  
  
"Well," Vin said softly, seemingly unstartled by the news, "There's one I didn't see coming."  
  
The other three glanced at him, wondering at such a placid reaction. Vin just shrugged.  
  
"This is Ezra we're talkin' about."  
  
That was true. They knew very little about each other's history, yes, but Ezra Standish was the biggest enigma of all. They weren't even entirely sure that was his real name. Should it really be such a surprise that he had kept secret from them that he was a married man? And yet each one of them felt some amount of betrayal. As if it was their right to know.  
  
"Where's he now?" Chris asked, passing the reigns of his horse to Vin.  
  
"Saloon," Buck said, "Alone with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cards. Could get ugly."  
  
"And we know how yer hate ugly, Buck," Vin said with a smile.  
  
"I'll go talk to him," Chris stated firmly.  
  
They all looked at him as if what he had said was ludicrous. Chris could understand why. He wasn't usually the one to go and try and have a heart to heart with someone. But if you needed a volunteer to go and beat some sense into someone....  
  
"Okay," he said, justifying himself, "A quick show of hands of everyone here who's been married."  
  
Of course, none of them moved.  
  
Chris nodded and walked passed them, heading for the saloon. He paused briefly beside Buck, his face screwed up uncomfortably.  
  
"If Josiah should turn up, you'll send him over to rescue me, right?"  
  
Buck smiled, patting him firmly on the shoulder, "Sure thing."  
  
"Good," Chris said, straightening himself up and trying to appear confident and in control as he strode over to the suddenly formidable looking batwing doors.  
  
He had expected Ezra to be full of jovial smiles and wide gestures. Whenever the man had a problem, he seemed to cope with by pretending it didn't exist, knowing that sometimes the easiest way to deal with things was simply to ignore them. This time however he was sitting morosely in the corner, playing solitaire and drinking alone. Chris didn't know what to make of that. He had quickly prepared himself for talking the man into admitting something was wrong in the first place, and then moving onto the heart to heart. He wasn't really ready to go straight for the plunge.  
  
"Hey," Chris said as a greeting.  
  
Ezra looked up at him coolly before his gazed returned to the cards that he was now collecting into a pile. Chris had never seen such a mixture of emotions in the man's usually unreadable eyes. He was hurt, pleased, angry, shocked and about a thousand other things. Chris found himself wondering again how a particular woman could manage to do this to a man.  
  
"Welcome back, Mr Larabee," the Southerner said cordially, a distance in his tone, "I trust you found nothing amiss on your journey."  
  
"No, everythin' was fine," he said dismissively, "Mind if I sit down?"  
  
"Yes," Ezra replied, bluntly, slapping the cards fiercely from one hand to the other as he shuffled them.  
  
Chris did so anyway, laying his hat on the table. Ezra sighed like a petulant child and stood up, picking up his drink and deck. Chris immediately stood also and forced him back into his seat with a firm shove on his shoulders. Ezra glared at him maliciously.  
  
"Don't make me have to hog tie ya, Ezra," he warned, sitting back down again.  
  
For a moment the gambler appeared to want to relent, but a fierceness sudden came onto face and he stood again, sharply. Chris blocked his path, giving him his most intimidating glare. Ezra didn't seem fazed.  
  
"Get out of my way," he intoned slowly.  
  
There was stand off for a few moments. Everyone in the saloon had stopped what they were doing to watch the palpable tension emanating from the two men.  
  
Chris saw the look in Ezra's eyes. He wasn't going to back down. If he had to, he'd slug it out with Chris to get away and the gunslinger didn't want it to come to that. So he stepped aside, allowing Ezra to storm out, leaving his cards behind him.  
  
After a moment, Chris sat and shook his head picking up the bottle Ezra had left and taking a long swig. Buck soon joined him.  
  
"Take it that didn't go to well."  
  
Chris smiled wryly, "I weren't cut out for being nice. Next time I get an idea like that - shoot me."  
  
Buck grinned in return, "Ya can pretty much count on it."  
  
--  
  
Annabelle had thanked the stableman, but said she'd sort out the horse herself. Mercifully he hadn't argued out of some chivalrous duty but had just left her in the peace she wanted.  
  
After hurriedly leaving the saloon that afternoon she had had half a mind to pack her bags and quit this town entirely. She could have taken a horse and simply ridden over to Ridge City straight off. If a train wasn't available immediately there would certainly be a hotel or two she could find accommodation in. Thankfully, her sensible head had prevented her from doing such a thing. It would be madness to travel alone at night in this territory. Instead she had simply settled on going for a long ride, and getting away from the suddenly oppressive town.  
  
Most of the afternoon she had given no thought to what had occurred. She had forced her mind to concentrate on the beauty of the day and the countryside around her. As soon as she had arrived back here however, she had felt a sudden pressure. As if every one was looking at her, talking about her. She hated the attention and scrutiny. It made her feel uncomfortable.  
  
Now, as she brushed the horse down, she was left to ponder on some issues that she had long been unwilling to address.  
  
'Horse'.....  
  
She wondered......  
  
Stepping out of the stall, she wandered down the others there, inspecting the occupants. Sure enough, the third one she checked contained a handsome chestnut gelding. Smiling slightly, she slipped inside.  
  
Chaucer seemed uncertain at first. Knowing the horse was sometimes of an awkward nature, she reached out her hand and brushed it across his soft nose, allowing him to smell her scent. He seemed to recognise it because he whinnied softly and nuzzled into her hand.  
  
"It's good to see you too, darling," she whispered to him gently, with a wry smile, "At least someone's pleased to see me."  
  
--  
  
Ezra sat in the church. It was possibly the worst place in the world he could have chosen to wallow. Churches. Weddings. Marriage. Annabelle. The associations were painful. And yet he knew it would be the last place the others would look for him, so he stayed and felt miserable.  
  
He sighed deeply. Yes, and miserable he was. Even his mother - who had been the advocate of a great deal of the emotional pain in his life - didn't send him into this kind of melancholy....  
  
He shook his head in denial - this was pointless and counter productive. He was losing money at the tables while he was sitting here feeling sorry for himself. He should go out there and cheer himself up with a round or two.  
  
The suggestion sounded good in his head, but didn't translate into reality. It simply wouldn't work. And to make matters worse he had left his cards somewhere, preventing him from practicing tricks as a distraction.  
  
Anyway, he'd have to think about this sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way now.  
  
The first thing on his mind was his reaction in the saloon. He'd been very harsh. Cruel even.

Truth be known, jealousy had been the reason. Not hurt or despair because of how she had left him, but because of the way she was with Buck. The way she laughed with him and soaked up all his attentions. He knew what the man was like. The only thing that scoundrel had in mind was getting her into the nearest haystack as soon as possible. The thought alone made him feel physically ill, followed by an overwhelming desire to rip Buck's throat out. And the man was his friend - if he had been a stranger, he just might have done.  
  
Ezra just couldn't stand to see someone else on the receiving end of the smiles she used to flash at him. The way Buck had touched her hair - it was like the knife being twisted sharply and then wiggled about a bit for good measure. The instant he had seen it, warm memories had flooded his mind; drifting peacefully off to sleep as he held her close, twirling his fingers gently through her hair. She said that she found having her hair played with incredibly relaxing and he had been willing to oblige. Her soft contented sighs had always made him smile slightly. How could something so simple make her that happy?  
  
When his mind had returned to the there and then, and he found himself still watching Buck's fingers in contact with her hair, his gut had constricted so violently he thought he might be ill. He had clenched his teeth in order to prevent himself hollering obscenities at the top of his lungs. He had become furious by the simple fact that she would allow anyone else to touch her.  
  
As the afternoon had worn on, the anger had faded and had been replaced by remorse. He had said some dreadful things. She hadn't shown it, but he could tell that he had wounded her with his words. Why was he such imbecile when it came to the truly important things?  
  
For the first time in his life Ezra honestly had no idea what to do. He always had some sort of plan to follow - when you lived a life like he had chosen you had to think about things carefully in order to avoid possibly fatal mistakes. But now he was simply undone and all because somebody in the heavens saw fit to give chance and nudge and put them in the same place at the same time.  
  
Ezra closed his eyes briefly and prayed for some sort of guidance to come his way.  
  
"Well, little brother," said an horribly recognisable voice from behind him, "If you're planning on taking shelter in God's house all night, might I suggest I get you a blanket or two."  
  
"That's not quite what I had in mind," Ezra muttered sarcastically to the heavens. He didn't even look at the man behind him. He didn't have to.  
  
"Mr Sanchez. I didn't know you had returned", he said aloud. In truth he had been hoping that the preacher and Nathan would not return for at least a day or two. He didn't need more 'advice' or empty words hounding him.  
  
"Got back in a few hours ago," Josiah said, either missing the silent plea to leave, evident in the man's voice, or simply choosing to ignore it, "Saw you sitting here but....well, I guessed you needed some time to think things through yourself."  
  
Ezra smiled wanly, "How very astute of you. You seem to be the only one to have come to that conclusion however." The others had been following him around all afternoon. Thank heavens he was such a slippery customer. It was the only thing that had allowed him to barely allude them.  
  
He'd actually had half a mind to leave town for a while, but a sense of duty had made him stay. That was laughable. Sense of duty? Like the duty he had to his wife? He had dismissed that so readily, why not this?  
  
Josiah nodded slowly, seeing the inner conflict in the man, "I'll leave you to it. You know where I am."  
  
He began to walk away.  
  
Ezra frowned. That was it? Josiah - the man who had something, that was meant to be profound, to say about everything - had nothing more than a 'you know where I am'? Ezra stood, holding out his arms in exaggerated askance - almost as if he were preaching himself.  
  
"Is that it preacher?" he asked, mockingly, stopping the man in his tracks, "No words of wisdom. No tales of crows and Indian warriors that are meant to somehow apply to my situation?"  
  
Josiah forgave the man his rudeness out of the stress of his circumstance. Clearly this woman's arrival had greatly disturbed the usually impeccably calm gambler.  
  
He simply shrugged at Ezra, "As I see it, what goes on between husband and wife is a private business. Ain't no man's right to interfere."  
  
Ezra stared at him a moment. Then he burst into laughter. Hysterical laughter of someone whose emotions were fraught to fraying point.  
  
"The sanctity of marriage, Mr Sanchez? Oh yes, let's hear all about that! Come on, preach to me."  
  
"I'm afraid it's something I've never had the honour of experiencing, son," he said, shaking his head and walking away.  
  
That got Ezra worked up. Josiah was feeling sorry for himself? Did he think being a single man was really so hard?  
  
"Oh, believe me, it is not an honour," Ezra said, dogging the man as he followed him into the vestry, grateful to have someone to vent his frustrations out on, "Do you have any notion of the trouble a wife will put you through? Of the misery and the sacrifices and the constant demands?"  
  
"If it's so bad," Josiah said, contemplatively, "Then why would so many men willing submit to it?"  
  
"Because they're fools that's why!" Ezra exclaimed, "A pretty face draws them in, and before you know it they're being frog-marched up the aisle."  
  
Josiah studied him closely for a moment. Ezra was no fool, that was for sure. He was an intelligent, sensible, calculating man. If he had been lured into marriage it only could have been for two reasons. Love or....  
  
"So what happened to you then, Ezra?" Josiah asked quietly, deciding to leave mention of the most turbulent of emotions out of this for a while, "The con go further than you thought?"  
  
Josiah had never seen Ezra react so swiftly or with such decisiveness. One of the things he often admired in the gambler was his ability to delay his reaction to anything. To take a step back, weigh the odds and take action accordingly. This time however a nerve had clearly been struck.  
  
Ezra grabbed Josiah by the lapels and slammed him forcibly up against the wall behind him. As always, the preacher was surprised by the strength of the smaller man. Not afraid - Ezra was a good fighter but in a brawl Josiah would have the advantage - but definitely surprised.  
  
"How dare you?" the Southerner growled dangerously, a mixture of menace and hurt tainting his accent, "You really think I would marry a woman in the pursuit of some sort of profit?"  
  
Josiah didn't answer.  
  
Realising that answer was probably 'yes', and feeling disgusted at himself, Ezra let him go and backed off.  
  
"I'm just saying," Josiah continued, seemingly unperturbed, "That you were the last one of us I ever figured to be getting married."  
  
Ezra laughed bitterly, "None more surprised than myself, Mr Sanchez, I assure you." He shook his head in bewilderment, the anger again fading. Yes, how had this all come to pass? It certainly wasn't like him. And his mother....well she had had a fit when she'd found out, so it definitely wasn't something he'd gotten from her.  
  
Ezra frowned, as if suddenly needing to clear the whole matter up for himself.  
  
"You know, sometimes I wonder if perhaps I should have steered clear of the Lucky Draw altogether."


	5. Part Five

**Part Five**  
  
_SEVEN YEARS EARLIER........  
_  
Ezra grinned delightedly, his gold tooth winking in an mocking tone as he scrapped in his winnings towards him. God, there was no other feeling like this on earth.  
  
He had arrived in town just this very morning, not expecting to find much. A bed for the night and then on to bigger and better things. Kansas City was just beckoning him and he could almost hear the clicks of gambling hall chips like a bell tolling him to his spiritual home. For a while now he had been travelling with his mother, partaking in a number of cons she had devised. But, as always, that had become tiresome. Maude Standish was not the easiest person in the world to be around for too long. Perhaps that accounted for the five marriages she had gotten through....  
  
In any case, Ezra had decided that the card tables were his next destination. Maude had scoffed at this, especially when Ezra had announced that he intended to play fairly.  
  
"Playing fairly only increases the odds of you losing", she had preached, "You're better off stacking the odds more in your favour".  
  
Ezra had refuted this however. For once he wanted to really test his skills. Find out how good he actually was on an even field of play. Maude had rolled her eyes - of course he was good. She had taught him herself.  
  
No, he had pointed out, she had taught him how to cheat. He had taught himself how to play fair.  
  
So he and Maude had parted company, promising to meet up at a later date. They hadn't set a place or time. There was no need to. When she needed him, she'd find him. She always did.  
  
The fact that this growing town had itself a gambling hall was an added bonus to his first stop on the journey. Yes, he was a excellent poker play, but practice made perfect. Why else would he spend hours a day turning cards about his hands, honing their dexterity and swiftness of movement?  
  
The Lucky Draw, as the establishment was known, was run by a young lady by the name of Ms Annabelle Cooper. Apparently it had been a joint business venture with her husband. Since his death on the battlefields at Gettysburg however, she had been left to fend for herself. Doing quite nicely by the looks of it too. He had almost laughed when he had heard about the 'no cheating' policy, wondering how on earth that could possibly be enforced. That was when he had found out that she was in fact the daughter of the infamous Zane Henderson. Fast shooter who had once been a lawman, but had long since turned his love of the card game into a legitimate business. He recalled his mother telling him stories of Henderson's ship, El Puerto. Cheating was outlawed on it, and strictly enforced. Unsurprisingly it had never been a place they had visited.  
  
Ms Cooper, it seemed, had taken the same policy into her own business. By all accounts she, like her father and two elder brothers, had an expert eye for the cheats. Already this night Ezra had watched as two men had been ceremoniously stripped down to their long johns, tied up by their feet and repeatedly dumped in the barrel of filthy water outside. Ezra had briefly wondered on the legality of this before discovering that it was actually the sheriff himself who organised the dunkings. It seemed he was pleased to have such an establishment in town and wasn't above assisting in the ritual humiliation of a man or two.  
  
For a short while, the thrill seeker in Ezra had wanted to challenge the system. See if he could cheat without being detected. Like all good gamblers however, he weighed up his odds and considered his options. If the lady was truly her father's daughter it would be quite possible that she would be able to rat him out. And his jacket, shirt and pants, were too good to meet such a tragic end. So, he had played fairly and won anyway.  
  
And talking of winning....  
  
Trained eyes quickly scanned the chips in front of him. Over the years he had managed to develop a skill whereby he could simply look at a pile of the small discs for a moment and know exactly how much was there. This night, he had gained himself a profit of three hundred and fifty eight dollars. Not a bad night's work at all.  
  
"Gentleman," he announced grandly, starting to drop the chips into his up turned hat, "I am sorry to say that I appear to have complete renounced you of all your finances." The grin widened almost predatorily, "On second thoughts - no, I'm really not."  
  
"Not what?" one of the cowhands asked, clearly confused and perhaps a little shocked. He had announced at the beginning of the game that he was considered quite the card player. He hadn't expected to be beaten so easily.  
  
"Sorry," Ezra said, tucking the remaining chips into any available pocket, ""To say I was would be a fallacy and I am, at heart, and honest man."  
  
"Bullshit," one man growled.  
  
Inwardly Ezra sighed. There was always one.  
  
"Sir, I would appreciate it if you could mind your tongue in front of these.....er...ladies," he said, indicating the whores who had strolled over to watch the game in hopes that they may get some of the winner's money if he took a fancy to them.  
  
"You're a cheater," the man growled again. He was thick set, with a black beard and beady eyes. Ezra could tell by just looking at him that he wasn't exactly a the brightest match in the book.  
  
"I played fairly," the Southerner said again, his tone dismissive, "You're simply just very bad at the game."  
  
The bearded man didn't seem to accept that, "You cheated me," he said slowly, emphasising every word. The other patrons around the table began to surreptitiously slip away.  
  
Ezra regarded him with a cool gaze, "Do you have a difficulty comprehending simple English?"  
  
Seeing the glare of the bearded man, the dealer began to looked nervous, "Err.....gentlemen, there must be a way of-"  
  
"He played fairly, Jeremiah. I was watching."  
  
Ezra glanced up to see the lady who had approached. A fine looking woman to be sure, with a manner that wasn't to be trifled with. Dealing with her would be like playing with fire - warm and exciting, but you were bound to get burnt.  
  
The bearded man's bravado faltered just slightly, "But look at him, Ms Annabelle. Look how he's dressed. Namby Southern boy here's a gambler. They always cheat."  
  
"Not this time," Annabelle said, moving behind him, leaning close to his ears, "Now, unless you're looking for a little bath, I'd suggest you'd leave. You know I don't like trouble here. It gets me all in a fluster and that disturbs my sleep which makes me cranky. And then heaven knows what I'd do."  
  
The bearded man glanced at her carefully, not sure whether or not that was a threat. Her voice had been soft, but the gentle malice there was unmistakable.  
  
"You heard the lady," a tall, handsome blonde man said as he appeared out of nowhere.  
  
Evidently, bearded man had no problems recognising this gentleman as a threat and left with a glare but without another word.  
  
"Thank you Sheriff," Annabelle said, throwing him a beaming smile.  
  
"Anything for you, Ms Annabelle," the handsome man said as he smiled in return, before tipping his hat and disappearing off into the crowd.  
  
Ezra smiled slightly. Clearly the woman was not above using her obvious feminine charms to exert influence when she felt it necessary. It was a skill his mother had turned into an art form.  
  
"Lord," she said, sitting opposite him at the table, "Do I hate a bad loser. I just cringe with embarrassment for them. 'Lose with dignity and win with humility', that's what my father always said."  
  
"Wise words," Ezra replied, a twinkling smile coming to his face. Her boldness interested him. And spending some time with her wouldn't be entirely unpleasant.  
  
"One's you might wish to heed to," she advised, at the same time beckoning one of the bar girls over, "Especially the 'winning with humility' aspect. Yes, you did indeed play a good game, but rubbing their noses in it - well, you can imagine the scene: the losing party goes to drown his sorrows in the bottle, gets all liquored up, decides he wants his money back and comes after you with a double barrel...All those winnings are going to get you then is a decent coffin and a nice suit to be buried in."  
  
Ezra grinned as the bargirl arrived and laid down a bottle of whiskey and two glasses between them, "Well, madam, I personally cannot see the joy in the victory if it isn't celebrated."  
  
"The joy should be the victory itself," she responded, pouring out two shots.  
  
"Perhaps it should," Ezra conceded, after a moment's thought. "But in any case, please don't feel the need to concern yourself over my safety. I am more than capable of attending to my own well being."  
  
She smiled and reached across, handing him a glass. At the same time her other hand whipped out taking advantage of his distraction to squeeze on his right arm. The derringer immediately flew out of it's rigging.  
  
Ezra looked down at his revealed weapon and then back up at her.  
  
"Yes, quite capable as it appears," she said, with a satisfied smile.  
  
Ezra nodded in acknowledgment, "Well, my oh my. Your shrewdness is quite remarkable, madam. I believe that is worthy of a toast."  
  
She took just a moment to decide before raising her glass. Ezra smiled again and lifted his glass to clink it against hers.  
  
With lightening quick reflexes, his other arm shot out and tapped in a specific spot on her forearm. A gun similar to his popped out of its hiding place, knocking the glass from her hand so it smashed on the table.  
  
She appeared startled for a second, but that quickly dissolved into a knowing smile.

"Touche," she admitted softly.  
  
"Miss?" Ezra called out, attracting the attention of the bargirl, "Another glass for the lady please." His eyes turned back to study the woman sitting opposite him who was currently returning the gun to its depository.  
  
"A sensible precaution in your line of business I should think. Although," he added, loud enough so only she would hear, "I am not entirely sure whether that is strictly lady-like behaviour."  
  
The girl arrived with a fresh glass.  
  
"Well," Annabelle admitted, "If I insisted upon constricting myself to strictly lady-like behaviour I certainly would have been dead long before now, Mr....?"  
  
"Standish," he replied, "Ezra Standish."  
  
"Annabelle Cooper," she responded.  
  
Ezra reached out and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back softly. He could taste the spilt whiskey on her skin.  
  
As he lingered for a perhaps a moment longer than he should have, he studied her face for reaction. If she had one she wasn't willing to show it. The woman was that good she might have been a pupil of his mother's.  
  
Resting her hand on the table he nodded towards her glass, "Allow me."  
  
She pushed it at him and he poured her a fresh drink.  
  
"Allow me to also add my apologies for the fate of your previous libation," he continued as he set the bottle back down on the heavy wooden table, "I simply hadn't accounted for the unfortunate side effect of my demonstration."  
  
"My," she said, smiling ever so slightly, "Quite the gentlemen, aren't we?"  
  
Ezra shrugged, "I try my best, madam. Now, I suppose we must drink to something."  
  
"To your game," she said promptly, "Your skill was quite impressive."  
  
"Why thank you," he smiled, "From a woman of your linage, a high citation indeed."  
  
Annabelle didn't bother asking about how he knew about her 'lineage'. She realised he father had attained quite a reputation for being the best in the business at spotting a cheat. It was inevitable that a cardsharp like Standish would have some knowledge of their activities.  
  
They clinked glasses and tipped the drink back. Ezra watched with some amazement at her complete lack of reaction. It was fine liquor. Strong, rich stuff and she drunk it with easy. She confused him a little. She dressed like a lady, spoke like a lady, had many of the airs and graces of a lady and yet.....and yet here she was carrying a gun and having a private drink with a man she'd only just met.  
  
"I must admit that I am surprised you have bothered to take much heed of me," he pondered aloud, "Despite my exemplary playing skills."  
  
"Why?" she asked, her tone boldly honest, "Because you so obviously adhere from south of the Mason and Dixon's line?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I don't bare the South any ill will, Mr Standish," she said shake of her head.  
  
"Even bearing in mind what happened to your husband?" he probed, even though he probably shouldn't have.  
  
She was thoughtful for just a moment before replying.  
  
"In my eyes, James knew exactly what he was doing when he went out there. He was never a fighter. Could play cards like a expert and was a better rider than any man I ever met but.....he simply wasn't a fighter. I knew when he went that he wouldn't come back. I told him so too. But he wouldn't listen and I don't blame anyone else for his pig-headedness."  
  
Ezra inwardly thanked her. If only everyone felt the same. The government had encouraged the Yankees to forgive and forget, but that wasn't always practised. As a Southerner, he was acutely aware of a certain amount of prejudice from some members of society.  
  
"Just let me ask you one more thing," he said, trying to lighten the tone again, "'The Lucky Draw'?"  
  
Annabelle smiled. The rather pained expression on his face was clearly expressing 'who on the earth thought that one up?'.  
  
"His idea, not mine," she reassured, "I hated it with a passion. Told him it was simply tacky but as usually he wouldn't listen to me". She shook her head with a sigh, "Men have no taste."  
  
Ezra smiled and laughed, "On behalf of my gender I would like to lodge a complaint.....unfortunately I find myself willing to agree with you for the most case."  
  
.......  
  
Josiah listened without interruption as Ezra told him of their first meeting at the Lucky Draw. He could see in the man's face the genuine fondness that the memories brought back. It was an expression he had never seen on Ezra before and it made him feel badly about what he had said earlier. True, he had only accused it of being part of a con in order to anger the man into revealing what had really happened, but it was clear that he loved this woman and what he had said must have cut quite deeply.  
  
"So," the preacher asked, snapping Ezra out of the silent reverie he seemed to have fallen into, "What happened then? How'd you end up with a wedding band?" There was an unwritten law in the West that a man's past was his own, and no one had the right to ask for it. Josiah knew however that Ezra needed this catharsis and so felt justified in pushing him a little.  
  
The gambler smiled, "I stayed in town. I had intended to leave the very next morning but I found an excuse to stay. Told myself that it might be lucrative in monetary terms."  
  
Josiah joined his smile, "But it was her. That's why you stayed."  
  
"I felt....drawn to her," Ezra said with a shrug, trying to appear flippant but not succeeding, "A certain kinship that I couldn't describe. As a boy I had never really had an opportunity to make....well, any friends at all. I was on the move so much I never got a chance......But Annabelle...." he trailed off, not sure what to say.  
  
"Still don't explain how you ended up marrying the woman."  
  
Ezra's warm smile turned to an mischievous grin, "Oh the usual way of courtship. Talked to her, flirted outrageously, then proceeded to burn her business out from under her."  
  
................  
  
Ezra's mind fuzzed as another punch connected with his jaw. How exactly had this escalated into a brawl? He had simply suggested to the gentleman that his intelligence was considerably less than that of a rabid dog. Somehow he had taken offence to that. So had all his large, hairy friends. All of which had seemingly partaken in a large amount of liquor.  
  
A chair had been tossed in his direction, which he had nimbly avoided. Instead it had struck the man behind him. He just happened to be a popular ranch hand who had, as chance would have it, all his burliest friends with him.  
  
Needless to say a brawl had broken out. Men hitting men whether they knew who they were or not. The sheriff had arrived to break it up. Unfortunately he'd been immediately struck on the head by a flying patron and rendered senseless.  
  
Ezra found himself snapped back to the here and now as a table leg was swung at his midsection. He jumped back, the swipe missing him by less than an inch. As he did this however, he knocked into a man behind him. The man immediately took this as an attack and grabbed him, slamming him down onto the bar. Looking around for an appropriate weapon as the larger man grabbed at his throat, he caught a pair of dark green eyes glaring down at him furiously.  
  
"Mr Standish," she said tartly, "Just exactly which part of my 'no violence' policy gave you the trouble in its comprehension?"  
  
"Well, madam," he said hoarsely as the man continued to clutch at his throat, "I would be perfectly amenable to discussing this matter." He glanced meaningfully at the bottles of whiskey on the shelf behind her, "Perhaps over a drink would be nice."  
  
She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. Turning round, she picked up a bottle and raised it to strike. Then she gasped in horror as she realised it was the expensive stuff. Putting it down and replacing it with a cheaper counterpart, she grabbed it by the neck and clonked Ezra's attacker over the head. The man immediately crumpled to the floor.  
  
Ezra, whose vision had just began to blur, lay there for a moment as he caught his breath. When he stood he turned to thank Annabelle and found her brandishing another bottle.  
  
"Just give one good reason why I shouldn't let you have this and a dozen others to follow," she said, her anger increasing once she was assured he was all right.  
  
"Well," he said with an easy grin, "I can think of far better uses for it."  
  
She sighed deeply, but handed it over anyway. Ezra tipped his hat at her in thanks and turned to strike the man who was advancing on him. He stopped to watch the guy's dazed expression as he fell to the floor. A smile almost made it to his lips but stopped when he saw more men stagger in off of the streets. By the look of them, they had just been kicked out of the saloon and had decided that they might just join the 'festivities' over here instead. Whopping and hollering, shouting something about not having been involved in a good kicking in ages, they pulled their guns.  
  
With lightening speed, Ezra jumped over the bar, barging straight into Annabelle and knocked her to the floor underneath him just in time to escape the aimless bullets that hit the bottles behind them. Glass showered down, stinging through the shirt on his jacketless back. His sense of gentlemanly chivalry however made him make sure she was completely protected from the painful rain.  
  
One of the drunken gunman managed to hit the tether holding an oil lamp. It crashed down onto the table. As fate would have it, the oil inside ran out into a trail of spilt liquor, providing a perfect conduit for the fire to quickly spread.  
  
The men suddenly weren't so interested in fighting after all. More in getting the hell out of there.  
  
Ezra heard the whoosh of flames and looked up. Assisting Annabelle as she rose to her feet, they starred helplessly around as the fire spread rapidly over the sea of alcohol that bathed the room. As soon as the flames hit the dry timber of the walls, these went up too. In matter of thirty astounding seconds much of the place was alight.  
  
Annabelle huffed angrily as men ran for their lives through the front door, some dragging unconscious friends behind them . She slowly turned an awful glare on Ezra. He shrugged and tried to look apologetic.  
  
"May I escort you towards a hasty retreat?" he asked, holding out his hand.  
  
Annabelle opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as she got a lungful of smoke and began to cough. She simply nodded and took his hand.  
  
He led her swiftly through the rear exit, easily kicking down the locked door. They didn't stop running for thirty paces until an awful crash was heard inside. They both turned to watch as the first floor joined the ground floor. The force of the collapse was so great it knocked them both clean off of their feet.  
  
It took a good minute for either of them to regain their senses. Ezra looked down to where she was lying below him, checking to see if she was hurt.  
  
"Really, madam," he said quietly, sudden aware at so much contact between their bodies, "We should stop meeting in this manner."  
  
"Oh, Mr Standish," she replied, with a worryingly calm smile, "I have a feeling we shall be meeting a whole lot more."  
  
.....................  
  
"What'd she mean?" Josiah asked as he sat himself down next to Ezra on the floor. The man seemed to be well into the flow of the tale now and he didn't really like to stop him, but the remark was a curious one. Why hadn't she been more angry?  
  
Ezra let out a small laugh, "Believe me, Mr Sanchez. I was similarly perplexed by the lady's unusual response. Fortunately she didn't keep me waiting long."  
  
....................  
  
Ezra groaned in protest as his body began to become fully aware of the punishment inflicted on it the previous night. He was usually a man to sleep in as long as he wanted, and the small amount of light permeating his closed eyelids was testament to the fact that it was still early as he woke. Unfortunately his battered body was just too uncomfortable to lie down on right now. He had bruises on his ribs, abdomen and side, not to mention the plethora of small glass cuts on his back. He was going to be in some pain for days.  
  
And he had lost his favourite jacket.  
  
He forced himself to sit up, burying his head in his hands as a small wave of nausea washed over him, his head spinning.  
  
"My, oh my," the unexpected voice said, "We have got our just deserts this morning."  
  
His eyes snapped open and he fumbled for the Remington in the holster that was hooked over the bedpost. He grimaced in pain as the twisting tore at the cuts and bruises. The effort was wasted however as the gun wasn't there.  
  
He heard the clonk of a weapon being placed on the sideboard and glanced up to see Annabelle sitting in the chair by the window.  
  
"I believe," she said brightly, "That is what some refer to as karma at work."  
  
Ezra subconsciously pulled the bed sheet tighter around his naked form. He squirmed slightly uncomfortably at the situation of a woman he barely knew sitting in his bedroom.  
  
"Oh, and forgive my relieving you of your gun," she added, brightly, "I was just a little concerned at how you'd react to being woken up. After all the trouble you've caused me it wouldn't be the done thing to shoot me as well."  
  
"What in heaven's name do you think you are do-" he began, stuttering as he started to ask the obvious question before something else crossed his mind. He frowned, cocking his head to one side and looking her up and down, "Where did you get those clothes?"  
  
She was dressed in a pretty dark blue skirt, bodice and white blouse. He could tell by the tailoring that they had been rather expensive.  
  
But hadn't all her possessions been lost in the fire last night?  
  
She smiled, running her fingers over the soft, fine material. "What do you think?" she asked, standing up to give him a twirl, "I was always told that blue brings out my eyes."  
  
He took a slightly awkward study of her form. He did find her attractive but he really didn't want her to know that. It would allow her too much power over him.  
  
"Well, they're lovely," he said, still stuttering just slightly. Indeed they were. Especially the tight fit of the bodice and blouse which enhanced her feminine curves.

"But who on earth would be so kind as to want to 'bring out your eyes' in such an expensive manner?" he added with gentle sarcasm.  
  
She tossed his billfold towards him, and he caught it with sickening realisation.  
  
"You," she needlessly clarified.  
  
Ezra was astounded. Money? She had taken his money? He flicked through the remaining notes, realising that there were at least half the amount there should be.  
  
"I think it was the least you could do," she said, sitting back down again, "After all, you did start a fight which has completely ruined me. A most ungentlemanly thing to do, if I might add."  
  
"You stole my money?" he asked, unbelievably, his voice trembling slightly at the outrage of it. His bright green eyes bore into her mercilessly, "You stole my money! Madam, this is sacrilege!"  
  
"No, Mr Standish," she replied, all business, "I have simply started the ball rolling on the business deal we are about to embark in."  
  
"'Business deal'?" he enquired, with a rather harsh look.  
  
"Yes. Until you have helped me earn back enough money to set myself up again, you and I are partners."  
  
Ezra laughed, part amused and part amazed at her sheer audacity. "I don't work with a partner," he said, shaking his head in firm denial.  
  
"I could have you thrown in jail."  
  
He looked at her steadily for a moment. She never once faltered in her gaze. The woman was indeed serious in her threat. For some odd reason it didn't anger him - only made him respect her deviousness more. The harshness in his gaze softened, and an interested gleam replaced the hostility.  
  
"And, tell me, my dear," he said quietly, "What kind of partnership do you have in mind?"  
  
She smiled in a coquette manner, "Well, you're a con man and card player. I have a god given talent with the decks, not to mention an inbred ability to.....turn things to my advantage. I'll let you work out the rest."  
  
Ezra was going to say 'no'. The whole reason he had left his mother's company was to go to Kansas City. and he opened his mouth to say so when he spotted the object she was playing with in her lap and it momentarily changed his train of thought.  
  
"A parasol?" he enquired dryly, with a raised eyebrow.  
  
She shrugged, obviously not bothered in the slightest at his tone. "I've never owned one before. And it was awfully pretty. I'd tell you how much it cost but you're in enough pain already."  
  
This woman was different from others, that was clear and he found himself liking it. As annoyed as he was, he liked that she had the audacity to come in here and do this to him. Her courage and spirit were admirable. Besides, he knew her reputation. A business deal could be highly lucrative for them both.  
  
The company would be nice also. The life of a con man was a lonely one by very definition, but Ezra craved the presence of others. He needed someone around who he could talk to and laugh with. Not simply the people who he was ingratiating himself to in order to gain access to their money. Annabelle was charming, interesting and knew him for what he was. Spending time with her would not be unpleasant at all.  
  
"Very well, Ms Cooper," he said with a thoughtful nod, "We have an agreement."  
  
She smiled, genuinely pleased this time. For just a small moment Ezra's heart caught. There was something. Something about her....  
  
"And," she said, rising once more, "Now this."  
  
She walked across to the bed and held out a small pot of some kind of ointment. He glanced up at her curiously.  
  
"Well," she explained, "The money, the clothes and the deal were for ruining my business. This, however, is for saving my life."  
  
She sat down next to him and scooped up some of the white substance, looking at him in askance. Ezra appeared uncomfortable.  
  
"Perhaps you should allow me to deal with this part myself," he said, quietly.  
  
"Oh don't be ridiculous," she scolded, shaking her head. "You are in no condition to. And besides", she added with a wicked grin, "You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. I was once a married woman, remember?"  
  
"Yes," Ezra replied, "But perhaps there are some things even business partners should keep secret from one another."  
  
Despite his cool words and unflustered face, Annabelle could see that he was somehow uncomfortable with it. She smiled gently, smoothing the mischief from her eyes, trying to easy his fears.  
  
"I'm simply trying to protect my investment, Mr Standish," she explained.  
  
"My dear," he said, with a twinkling smile, "If we are to become so closely acquainted I believe we may become a little more colloquial with one another." He held out his hand for her to shake, "Ezra."  
  
"Annabelle," she confirmed, as she took his hand, noting the soft skin and delicate fingers. Gambler's hands indeed. Fast, dexterous and deadly with a pack of cards. Usually with a gun too. Might come in handy.  
  
"Now, about those wounds...."  
  
Ezra took a deep breath and allowed her to move the sheet slightly so she could get access to the bruises that covered his chest and back. That he felt so uncomfortable with her touch was worrying. In any other circumstance, a beautiful woman wanting to attend to him would be a welcome thing but part of him wanted this just a little too much.  
  
Annabelle smoothed the ointment gently over his back, shoulders and chest. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she ran her fingertips over taught muscle covered with smooth skin. He certainly had a handsome body to match that handsome face of his.  
  
Immediately she scolded herself for the thought. She was his business partner. Matters shouldn't be complicated by allowing emotions to come into this.  
  
Little did she know Ezra was thinking precisely the same thing.  
  
....................  
  
Josiah grinned, "Ezra, you have more self-control than I would have given you credit for. Caught a glimpse of the lady in question earlier. Beautiful woman."  
  
Ezra smiled wanly, "I assure you, Mr Sanchez, my restraint was due to entirely self-serving reasons. A business relationship should never be complicated with notions of friendship, let alone anything more."  
  
Josiah wondered at his friend sometimes - some of the things that came out of his mouth were beyond belief. How any man could live by Ezra's rules and be happy, he wasn't sure.  
  
"So, how'd you end up breakin' that decree?" he asked.  
  
Ezra shrugged, his gaze turning to the floor.

"You will excuse me if I do not go into details but...." he trailed off, not wanting to explain his reasons. And he didn't have to. It was clear to Josiah that it hurt.  
  
"We fell in love," Ezra rushed quickly, "Over the time we spent masquerading as husband and wife, we came to realise that it felt natural.....and when Annabelle had her money and it was the end of the deal, something between us continued. On a rash whim one night, I asked her to marry me. She said 'yes'. We were joined as man and wife the next day."  
  
There was a certain flippancy in the man's tone, but Josiah could tell that it was far more important to him than he made out. For Ezra - who had come to them caring for himself and no one else - to have done something so unplanned and out of character.....It could only be love. All men were different creatures when it came to the softer emotions.  
  
"So," Josiah asked, rising from his perch on the floor, "How did you arrive here as a free entity?"  
  
"'Entity'?" Ezra asked, with a forced laugh, "It seems my extensive vocabulary is rubbing off on you."  
  
"Ezra," Josiah said quietly, almost pleading with him not to stop now.  
  
The gambler nodded, knowing what he wanted but unable to give it. He stood, twirling his hat in his fingers and planting it firmly on his head.  
  
"A disagreement, Mr Sanchez. A difference of opinion in a business matter. I won't bore you with the tedious details."  
  
There he was. The old Ezra. Not the man in hurt and sorrow who had bared his deepest soul for the last half hour, but the flippant, jovial fella who seemingly couldn't give a damn about the world and would just go on his own merry way. It saddened Josiah to see it, but at least he knew for certain now that it was all an act.  
  
Ezra went to leave but Josiah asked the one question he had been dreading.  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
He paused in the doorway, not looking back. Just down at his own fingers that twirled nervously together. How could he answer that?  
  
"I don't know what love is," he admitted softly, "And who can really give me an answer? But I do know that I have never been happier before I met her or since we parted"  
  
Josiah nodded, surprised in a way at the wisdom in the other man's words. "Well, if you're interested I saw her going into the livery not half hour ago. Might be still there."  
  
Ezra turned to him with a rueful smile, "I don't believe the lady wishes my company. She seems to find it most abhorrent."  
  
"Ezra," Josiah said with a fond smile and a shake of his head, "For an educated man, you sure are a fool at times."


	6. Part Six

**Part Six  
**  
Annabelle felt ridiculous as she lazily brushed the already pristine horse. This was Ezra's mount after all, of course he was in perfect condition and in no need of such attention. But just being so close to the creature he held so dear.....It was almost a substitute for having him around.  
  
Lord, did she miss him. She missed his smile, his laugh, the way he would be so cheeky with her but get away with it due to an easy charm and a twinkle in his beautiful eyes. She missed his wit and his long words, always using twenty when three would suffice. She missed watching him as he turned cards over and over in his practiced hands, the way he would subconsciously stroke her hair or slip his arm loosely around her waist when he was talking to someone else. She missed wiping the floor with him in the mock duels they used to have, the product of her rather eccentric aunt insisting she learnt how to fight with a blade.  
  
She missed his teasing right before he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a kiss. She missed his kisses - the soft and gentle, the passionate, the ones that would trail so lightly up her neck. Even the gentle brushes against her lips as he bid her farewell for the shortest while. She missed waking up in the night and listening to his heartbeat as she drifted back off to sleep - and she had forgotten how cold a double bed could be when you slept in it alone. God help her, she even missed the subtle scent that his cologne always left on her clothes.  
  
She hated that she was so weak. That one man could make her forget all her grand schemes, ambitions and plans. It had never been like this with her first husband. Maybe because she had never loved James. At least not in such a total, devastating manner. He was as dear to her as anything - she'd known him virtually all her life. They'd become such close friends that everyone, including her father and brothers, had simply assumed that it was a romance. James was a businessman at heart and Annabelle had secretly stated that she had no intention of marrying. So, they had decided, why not marry one another? It would save awkward questions and the match making of interfering friends and relatives. At the same time they would always have some pleasant company and their business would flourish.  
  
When he had gone off to fight in the war, she had somehow known it would be the end of it all. Part of her understood that their arrangement just wasn't meant to last. The arrival of the telegram was still a shock however. She had never mourned so deeply in her life. But once the grief had passed - and it did - she had picked herself up and gotten on with her life with as much vigour as before.  
  
It had been different when she and Ezra had gone their separate ways though. She found it harder to function. Her mind wandered too often, wondering what on earth had made her do something so ludicrously out of character. Her ability at the card table plummeted and she soon found herself in serious danger of losing everything. Fortunately a sense of self- preservation had saved her. Yes, in monetary terms she was comfortable now, but she didn't enjoy it any more. She didn't even have a goal. Ezra's dream had been to set up a saloon and she had entered into it whole-heartedly but she didn't have the heart to carry it through alone. So instead she ambled from place to place, trying to find something out there that would spark her back to her vibrant self. So far it had been elusive.  
  
And the worst thing of all? It was all her fault. The decision to leave was hers, made in a state of anger, hurt and jealousy. The feelings had surprised her. She was a calm, rational, level headed person. And yet when he had told her what he and Maude had planned... God, the thought of it had made her feel just awful. She couldn't share her husband in any way shape or form with another woman - even if it was for a con and he didn't so much as like her, let alone have plans of entering into a more intimate relationship. Maude had been so adamant with him that it was the right thing to do, and she held such a sway over her son that he had barely put up a resistance.  
  
When the woman had found out about their marriage, she had - as Ezra had put it - gone into a state of apoplexy. She refused to so much as acknowledge his existence for the first few months. Despite all Ezra's rolling of eyes and complaining about how melodramatic she was being, Annabelle could tell he was deeply hurt. His mother meant a great deal more to him than he ever would admit and her behaviour was wounding. So when he had a chance to make things up with her by participating in her latest scheme, he had agreed to do so without reservation. Annabelle had gone along with the idea also, not in the slightest bit bothered by the plan. At least until she saw it put into action with her own eyes. Much to her own surprise, she couldn't watch him flirt with that girl and hold her hand and pretend to be in love. She couldn't maintain her business like detachment, simply viewing it as a means to an ends. The sight made her feel ill. It hurt so much it burned. She hadn't realised until that moment just how much he affected her. So, angry and jealous, she had given him an ultimatum, they had argued and she had left before he had made his choice. It wasn't long before she calmed down and her sensibility returned. He loved her, she knew that. That other girl meant nothing to him. And yet, she just found it too difficult to go back. It was too late. What was done, was done.  
  
Chaucer stomped in annoyance and she snapped back to the here and now, realising she was neglecting to brush him.  
  
"Sorry, my friend," she whispered gently, "My mind had gone elsewhere. I'll come back tomorrow and bring you something nice to munch on, hmm?"  
  
The horse seemed appeased and she smiled, turning to leave.  
  
Then stopped abruptly at Ezra's form standing just a pace behind her.  
  
She shrieked in alarm, and stumbled backwards, falling heavily on the floor. Out of sheer habit, Ezra reached to help her up. The contact of his hands on her arms was horribly welcome and she quickly manoeuvred herself out of his grasp.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, immediately, "I didn't intend to startle you."  
  
She nodded, accepting his apology. The shocked anger of their earlier meeting had dissipated, but had left behind it an awkwardness, which was in some ways much worse.  
  
"I see you have reacquainted yourself with my equine companion," he commented randomly, in order to break silence.  
  
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat, "Well, fortunately for me, his reaction to my arrival was far more positive."  
  
Ezra's face contorted with a look of hurt and Annabelle felt awful for having spoken so harshly. She hadn't meant that but.....  
  
She stepped round him, her face rooted to the floor, "If you'll excuse me, sir. I think it would be best for us both if we minimize out contact."  
  
She brushed past his shoulder as she left, and to Ezra it felt like a painful blow. Without stopping to think he reached back and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him.  
  
"Annabelle, I-" he paused, unable to find the right words to say to the sad look in her eyes. And what could he say? That he was sorry. How hollow would those words sound after all this time?  
  
"How have you been?" he instead settled on, just to stop her from leaving.  
  
She wanted to lie. Tell him that everything was wonderful and she was having a whale of a time. But despite her public show, privately she had never been more unhappy. The words seemed to leave her mouth without her consent.  
  
"Lonely," she admitted softly, "Just.....alone."  
  
The tone in her voice just broke his heart. He was swept by an urge to gather her into his arms and whisper that it was all right, until it truly was. But he knew he couldn't. He didn't believe she wanted him to.  
  
"What about your father and your brothers?" he asked, trying to make himself feel better. When she had left he had always reassured himself with the fact that at least she had a family to return to. That she could look after herself and would be perfectly fine without him.  
  
She shrugged, seemingly uncaringly, "We all move about so often. It's hard to keep up. I've no idea where they are."  
  
Could she just twist the knife a little more? - he didn't think his heart had been totally mangled just yet. Upset and unsure of what to say he blurted out the first thing which came to mind. Unfortunately it was just about the worst thing he could have possibly said.  
  
"You've never found another companion?"  
  
He hated the suspicion laced in his own voice, but he knew her beauty, knew her charm. It wouldn't be hard for her to find someone else. Seeing her with Buck that afternoon had only reinforced that. The very thought of her being unfaithful to him made him want to be physically ill. He'd wasted a good amount of money and liquor on trying to erase the images of some rather vivid nightmares from his mind.  
  
He knew however that it would be a wise thing for her to do. A married woman found it much easier to go about in society unmolested than a single one did, and in their line of work a little anonymity was a healthy thing. Her head had always seemed to rule her heart - that was why he had been so shocked when she'd reacted so badly to his mother's scheme. She knew he loved her. He told her often enough and her sudden insecurity was ridiculous. Yet it had torn them apart. Although his anger hadn't helped none. When he had finally calmed and realised he must go and look for her, she had long since vanished.  
  
Predictably, the look in her eyes firmed at the accusation. Annabelle certainly had her dignity and pride.  
  
"How dare you even ask such a thing?" she said in a taut voice, "We made a vow, remember? I've been honest to that, at least."  
  
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Did he trust her?  
  
Probably.  
  
She rolled her eyes, realising he was waiting for a response.  
  
"Not once," she intoned steadfastly, making quite sure that he was in no doubt of the fact.  
  
There was a small pause, while she struggled with her own need to know and her need not to. Perhaps ignorance was bliss after all. In the end, however, curiosity won out.  
  
"And you?" she asked, her tone a little light. Almost disinterested.  
  
His eyes took on a steely resolve, "Not once."  
  
True, there had been the small flirtation with Li Pong. But as time had passed since then, he had come to realise that his attraction with her was due to that look she gave him. The wide-eyed, open soul look that hid nothing. There had been something of Annabelle in that look. She had been the only person to ever let him be a friend to her, and when he had met Li Pong, seeing that look again had almost been too much. It reminded him of what he had lost.  
  
She thought for a moment and Ezra could see her torn between wanting to believe him and being unable to trust him. Which was hardly a surprise. He was a con man after all - why would he find it so hard to lie to her?  
  
"'Be faithful unto her always'," he recited, softly, suddenly feeling a slight shiver, "I seem to remember saying those words. And to my knowledge, 'always' has not yet come to pass."  
  
She seemed satisfied by this at least and she softened once more. At the mention of their wedding vows she subconsciously reached down the ring he had placed on her finger one day in a tiny little church, while all the while a storm raged outside. In a sense the day had all been a little surreal. A decision made and carried through in less than twenty fours hours, it had seemed almost a dream or fiction. In fact, reality had only struck when she found herself lying awake one night a week later, her hand rising gently up and down on his chest as he breathed softly in his sleep. The moon had slipped through the curtains and illuminated the wedding ring on her finger. The ring he had given her as he promised before the law to love and protect her. It was at that moment she had come to realise how hopelessly in love she was.  
  
At the time it had felt strong enough to last for an eternity. Could it really all be over now?  
  
"And", she replied gently, not able to express what she really wanted, "I also seem to recall a second promise. That whatever occurred we would always be friends."  
  
She was asking him for forgiveness, he knew that without her saying. For leaving, for the argument, for her emotional reaction, for the way she had spoken to him earlier.  
  
He could do with a bit of forgiving himself.  
  
"My dear, lady," he said with a small, warm smile, "I sincerely hope we will never be anything less than the best of friends."  
  
"You can depend upon it," she said solemnly. Hurriedly, before she could change her mind, she leant closer and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.  
  
He looked at her deeply afterwards, his green eyes dancing with a fire that seemed to have been just re-ignited. His whole body was asking her to stay. To forget all that had happened and to simply carry on like they once had. But he couldn't put the feeling into words and until he could he knew she wouldn't act.  
  
"I should go and change," she said, appearing just the slightest bit shy at what she sensed in his gaze.  
  
Reluctantly he let go of the grip her had maintained on her arm. Maybe they could never be what they once were to one another. Two such stubborn creatures, so unwillingly to reveal what was going on in their deepest hearts - maybe they were incapable of sorting things out. But if could make his peace with her, know that she bore him no ill will, perhaps things wouldn't be quite so bad. They could be friends - they'd been wonderful friends before.  
  
He watched as she continued to leave, turning back just moments before she left the stall.  
  
"And Ezra?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She smiled at him properly for the first time in three years.  
  
"Happy birthday."  
  
Ezra let out a sigh once he was sure she had gone. Yes, it had been quite an eventful one, hadn't it? The present hadn't exactly been what had expected....but was it what he secretly wanted?  
  
He patted Chaucer's flank firmly as the horse whinnied in disappointment at her departure. "Yes, old friend," he said with a shake of his head, "I miss her too."  
  
--  
  
The wind whistled through the shutters again and Ezra forced himself to sit up, bringing him to state of full alertness. His sleep had been restless so far and it was starting to annoy him. He simply couldn't seem to relax. Most of the time he was only really dozing, existing in a bizarre world between dreams and reality, not really fully aware of one nor the other. He must have drifted off for ten minutes here and there, but nothing that could be considered a proper rest.  
  
Sitting now, staring around his room he came to realise that it quite nicely summed him up.  
  
Empty.  
  
Practical and sparse. It contained the essentials for living. But where was the life in it? Where were the personal items, the memories, the mementoes?  
  
Truth be know, Ezra didn't have any. He had never stayed in one place or with one set of people long enough to gain any. Even Four Corners - which he had to admit was the closest thing to a home he had ever known - often seemed precarious. Part of him was always prepared to move on at the drop of a hat, should it be necessary. While he wanted to believe that the kinship he had developed with other six was unbreakable, he had a feeling that they still didn't trust him. And didn't really trust them either - didn't trust them not to turn on him should he fall from grace once again.  
  
In the whole of his life, the only person he had ever become reliant on was Annabelle. Since she had left, he had found himself unwilling to enter into any situation whereby he could be let down again. That was the main reason why, when he had first met Chris and the gunslinger had asked him to join them, he had refused. Playing the role of the bigoted Southerner and being totally dismissive of Nathan, he had hoped that they would be immediately convinced that they didn't want his type with them. He didn't want to risk the possibility of forming attachments or friendships with people he was pretty sure would never want someone like him around. But it hadn't turned out that way, had it?  
  
Why was he sleeping here alone tonight when she was just across the street? Annabelle understood him. She accepted him. He loved her. The years he had spent travelling with her - winning countless poker tournaments, conning the rich and the stupid, dancing and drinking and laughing all the way - had been the most wonderful he had known. His life had been vibrant and colourful. Now it was dangerous and lonely.  
  
It was Annabelle's sparkling presence that made the difference. Even at his lowest moments - usually when his mother got to her most scathing and dismissive - she found a way to make him smile again. Whether it was a gentle teasing, a squeeze of his hand, a challenge to a sword fight or a soft embrace, she seemed to have the magic touch.  
  
He knew she would be here if he asked her to, filling the emptiness that surrounded him like an aura. The emptiness that seemed to claw closer to him everyday. The emptiness which brought him closer to becoming his mother with every inch of ground it gained. To making him not care about anyone but himself. To becoming devoid of true emotion. Simply living to function.  
  
The prospect scared him more than he would like to admit.  
  
When he had first married Annabelle his mother had thrown a fit. She told him he was weak. She talked about love as though it was some kind of disease or ailment, not realising how much her words wounded him. How could she stand there and tell her own son that love was a bad thing - something she herself didn't have? What about him? Didn't she love him?  
  
Little had she known however that her outburst had only made him clinging to Annabelle more dearly. She was all he had and he sure as hell wasn't going to waste it.  
  
And as he remembered the feeling a wave of determination set in. How did he want his life to be? Did he want to end up old and alone and hated? Did he desperately want to be unhappy? The answer to both was a resounding 'no'. What sane man would?  
  
He was going to change things. Tomorrow morning he was going to go out there and win his wife back. No more moping, no more bitterness, no more sulking. No more skirting around his feelings because of the fear of being hurt. You had to take risks to win the big prizes.  
  
A small smile crept across his lips. Of course, Annabelle would never make it easy for him. But, he did love a challenge.


	7. Part Seven

**Part Seven  
**  
Mary was trying desperately to mind her own business as she watched the woman potter about the general store. She had only come in to purchase a new set of pencils - she was forever losing hers - but the presence of the woman who had caused such a ripple throughout the town made her stay. It hadn't taken long for the news to circulate through the small community that one of the passengers from that stagecoach crash had in fact been Ezra Standish's wife. When Mary had heard she had hardly believed it. Talking to Chris she had found out that none of them had known either. That was a little odd. Weren't they all friends?  
  
Realising that the other woman had noticed her interested glances, Mary hurried over the counter to pay for the things she wanted. As per usual she had ended up buying more than she had intended. Going to leave, she brushed past the woman and out of sheer politeness felt the need to say something.  
  
"Good morning, Mrs Standi-", he began before abruptly stopping, realising that perhaps that was inappropriate.

"Miss...." she correct, before remembering she didn't actually know the woman's name. She sighed in defeat, giving out an apologetic smile.  
  
The woman smiled also, clearly not in the slightest offended by Mary's slip.  
  
"'Annabelle' will do just fine," she said friendly.  
  
"Mary Travis", the blonde confirmed, fumbling to manoeuvre the stack of large paper pads she was holding so she could shake the other woman's hand.  
  
A look of recognition passed across Annabelle's features, "Of course. The lady who runs the news paper." Mary clearly wondered how she knew and so she added, "Mr Wilmington gave me a tour of this delightful province yesterday."  
  
Inwardly Mary thought how much she sounded like Ezra, but instead asked, "And how are you finding the town?"  
  
"Oh," Annabelle said with a sigh, "I have to say it is a little more sedate than I'm used to."  
  
"Well," Mary returned with an almost cryptic smile, "We do have our moments."  
  
Annabelle, remembering that Buck had told her how hard Mary had fought to make this town 'sedate', quickly added, "It's still simply adorable. Although I seem to be having difficulty finding anywhere to get a decent gift."  
  
"Gift?" Mary enquired with a frown.  
  
"Ezra's birthday," she replied.  
  
Mary shifted the weight under her arm as it began to slip, "When is it?"  
  
"Yesterday, actually" Annabelle said with another sigh as she scanned the shelves in front of her.  
  
"Really?" Mary said with surprise, "He didn't say anything."  
  
Annabelle smiled knowingly, "No. I didn't think he would. He's not really one for birthdays, but I try valiantly anyway. Even though he is the most impossible man in the world to buy a gift for."  
  
"He's lucky to have someone who cares so much."  
  
Annabelle's smile turned noticeably downcast at the sudden influx of memories.  
  
He had only told her the date of his birthday because she had specifically asked. If she hadn't he certainly would have been quite happy to forget the whole thing. The last one they had spent together had been the best. She had forgone her usual method of trying to get him to go out and celebrate with others. Instead they had simply gone riding together for the first time in many months. Leaving the town they were residing in far behind them, they had taken a journey across the plains and into the woods. There they had lain in the long grass and watched the natural world pass them by, chatting about nothing in particular. She remembered how peaceful it had all seemed in comparison to the world of gambling halls and fast money they lived in. Ezra had said how nice it had been to let his guard down just once - to not be constantly on the look out for disgruntled losers or playing a tightly construed role in some con or another. To simply be himself was most refreshing.  
  
The best part had rather surprisingly been the small accident she'd had when she slipped on a rock and turned her ankle. He had insisted that it would be too dangerous for her to ride alone and had made her join him on Chaucer's back. She remembered the feeling so well. One arm wrapped tightly round her waist, pulling her back into him while the other held the reigns. The way the warmth of his body had kept the cold night air away. How he had dropped the occasional soft kiss into her hair for no apparent reason. How he had whispered that he loved her at least five times.  
  
And less than six months later it had all gone wrong.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary apologised immediately, seeing the pain on the other woman's face. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. It wasn't easy however the separation happened. "I shouldn't have-"  
  
"Would you like a hand with those things?" Annabelle asked, interrupting her. She didn't want to dwell. It was pointless and counterproductive. The past could not be changed even with the dearest wish to do so.  
  
Mary nodded with a smile, "That would be a very kind. Thank you."  
  
"And you can tell me all about being a journalist," Annabelle said, her bright demeanour returning once more.  
  
Mary's smile widened, "I'm sure it's not as interesting as it sounds, but if you want...."  
  
--  
  
"That her?" Chris asked quietly as he and Buck sat on the boardwalk outside the saloon.  
  
Buck looked up to see Mary and Annabelle leaving the shop opposite, chatting comfortably with one another. Hardly a surprise really. They were both a different kind of woman than was usually found in these parts. It was pretty much a given that they would gravitate towards one another.  
  
"Yep," he confirmed with an automatic sigh, crossing his ankles the other way to prevent them from becoming uncomfortable.  
  
Chris nodded in approval as he studied for a brief moment, "Nice looking woman."  
  
"Yep," Buck repeated with a second sigh, "Ol' Ez sure knows how to pick 'em."  
  
Chris noted something reflective in the man's tone. Buck was never very good at hiding his feelings when it came to the fairer sex. That was what got him in so much trouble.  
  
"What's the matter, Buck?" the gunslinger asked, leaning back in his chair, "You ain't gonna got yerself a soft spot for the lady have ya?"  
  
Buck chuckled, his gaze never leaving the two women until they disappeared into the Clarion, "Ah. Ya know me, Chris. Can't resist a married woman. And the way her hips move when she walks. Damn, I could just eat that up."  
  
The light tone beguiled the sentiment, but Chris let it go. Buck would get over it the next time a pretty girl walked down the street. He always did - it was what kept him single.  
  
"Yeah, Buck," Chris commented dryly, "I know you."  
  
A clonking of boots on wood was heard and Ezra appeared through the batwing doors of the saloon behind them, buttoning up his green jacket. The Southerner always looked immaculate, but he somehow he seemed to have made an extra effort today. The jacket was spotless, his boots, buckle and buttons shined to perfection, the shirt looking crisp white.  
  
"Gentlemen," he said as a greeting, "I don't suppose you would happened to have seen Mrs Standish about this morning?"  
  
"Just went off to the Clarion with Mary," Chris said, noting the man's use of 'Mrs'. It seemed Ezra might have plans to stay a married man after all.  
  
Considering what had gone on yesterday - the argument in the saloon and the Southerner's consequent fool mood, Chris had come to the conclusion that the lady's impromptu visit wasn't a welcome one. But when Josiah had turned up and proceeded to relay to them some of what Ezra had told him, Chris had become a little more uncertain. To be honest, he too had wondered whether or not the marriage had been part of a scheme - or at least one of convenience. Predictably, Nathan had been the one to voice that opinion. From what Josiah had said however, it was clear that Ezra did indeed love the woman. A hell of a lot by the sound of it. Which only left Chris to ponder what the gambler would do about it. The typical Ezra thing and take the easiest way out? Or would he actually work for something he wanted? Chris would have put money on the former, but again, it seemed he had underestimated the man. He could always rely on Ezra to be a constant surprise to him.  
  
"And it's afternoon," the gunslinger added, dryly, trying to keep the tone light, "Not morning."  
  
"Really?" Ezra asked, consulting his pocket watch, "I hadn't realise how far I'd over slept."  
  
Chris chuckled, "As if we ain't heard that one before."  
  
Ezra smiled back in defeat. True, he wasn't exactly known for his punctuality. Nor his love of early mornings.  
  
"Well, if you'll excuse me I have some business to attend to." He began to walk, but stopped just in front of Buck. He glanced casually down at his shirt sleeve, pulling the cuffs into their correct position.

"And Mr Wilmington? Should you take it upon yourself to speak about my wife in such a lascivious tone again, I'm afraid I shall be forced to take action preventing you from ever enjoying the company of another woman. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
His words and manner were both flippant, but there was no hiding their meaning. His usually easy, bright voice had become ice cold and dangerous, intent rolling from his every syllable.  
  
Chris stayed stoic but he was shocked at the sudden viciousness. Ezra must have heard them talking before - and clearly he wasn't happy about what he heard.  
  
Buck looked at the Southerner, judging the seriousness of the threat. Part of him fully believed that Ezra was simply having a joke with him but he suppressed the urge to laugh just in case. It was a fortunate thing too, because when Ezra finally looked up at him, waiting for a response, his gaze was filled with a dark, cold anger that Buck had only ever seen directed at the worst villains they came across.  
  
"Perfectly clear," Buck said quietly, disturbed by the ferocity of that look.  
  
Ezra smiled coolly, tipped his hat and walked away.  
  
--  
  
"So you grew up on a ship," Mary confirmed, as she started feeding paper into the printing press.  
  
Annabelle, who was standing next to her, smiled. "I assure you, it's not as appealing as it sounds. Especially in winter. I used to get the most god-awful colds. My father ended up having to send me to live with aunt during the cold months because he was afraid I'd get pneumonia."  
  
"It's a parent's duty to worry," Mary said returning the smile.  
  
"Something I doubt I shall ever get first hand experience of," Annabelle said, looking almost relieved at the fact. Mary was obviously curious as to why and so Annabelle continued, "I'm not really the mothering type, and world I live in isn't fit for a child - I should know. Besides, I don't see myself consenting to a third marriage."  
  
"You don't think there's any hope for your second?" Mary asked, when perhaps she shouldn't.  
  
Annabelle shrugged, trying to appear casual, "He says he wants to be friends. And I can hardly make his decisions for him now, can I?"  
  
Mary saw the pain returning and decided to steer the conversation away. "It's a pity really," she joked, "I'm sure men would find their lives much easy if they did allow us to think for them."  
  
"Oh Lord, if only more women had thoughts like that. What a pleasant place this would turn out to be," Annabelle returned, with a small laugh. "Not many women in your situation would have taken over this business. I know how very much of a man's world we live in. It isn't easy to be respected."  
  
"Well," she said, with that determined look she had made all her own, "After Steven died I didn't feel right allowing the paper to simply disappear. He worked so hard to make it what it was. And I've found that if you do something well, people eventually take notice whether you're capable of bearing children or not."  
  
Annabelle shook her head with an exasperated sigh, "Men can be some contemptuous bigots when they choose to be. Unfortunately they tend to make that choice far too often."  
  
"What would you suggest we do?" Mary asked, smiling.  
  
Annabelle's grin became mischievous, "Why, play them at their own games of course. See how they cope."  
  
Mary laughed at the moment the door opened and in stepped Ezra. She noticed the subtle change in Annabelle's demeanour, but said nothing.  
  
"Ladies," Ezra said, tipping his hat, "I trust I'm not intruding."  
  
"Oh, only in the degradation of the male gender and our master plan to quash them once and for all," Annabelle replied promptly. Unlike yesterday however, the malice in her words had been displaced by teasing.  
  
Ezra smiled, a little bemused, "And do you plan upon instigating this revolution yourself?"  
  
"Of course not," Annabelle said with a flippant toss of her hand, "If you're too involved, you can't sit back and watch the fun unravel."  
  
Ezra chuckled, "Well then my dear, before you begin your attempt at dramatic social reform, why don't you and I step outside a moment and let Mrs Travis continue in her labour?"  
  
Annabelle nodded instantly. She simply couldn't think of a smart answer or witty retort, which annoyed her sharp mind immensely. It hated to be overruled by her heart.  
  
Bidding Mary farewell, the pair of them moved to the quiet boardwalk outside, pausing momentarily to allow a teenage boy with a bundle of letters to pass into the Clarion.  
  
"Well?" Annabelle asked, as soon as the door closed.  
  
Ezra looked her up and down, dryly, "Patience never really was one of your virtues, was it?"  
  
Annabelle shrugged lightly, "Hardly surprising since I have so few to begin with. Now, what did you want?"  
  
Her tone was forceful and demanding but she didn't seem to be in a rush to leave his company. Just impatient to see what he had in store for her now. That boosted his slightly waning courage. Ezra had often been told how charming he was, and that he had a way with all people, not only those of the feminine persuasion. Annabelle however had been one of the rare creatures that was seemingly oblivious to his lure. Or at least she was an expert at pretending not to be.  
  
"Well," he said, his voice remaining blissfully calm and laid back, "I simply came to ask you to have dinner with me tonight."  
  
Annabelle blinked a couple of times, clearly caught off guard. It made him wonder what she had thought he was going to demand. A divorce? That expensive wedding ring back? Well, maybe she wouldn't put it past him.  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, clearly flustered.  
  
Ezra managed to keep his habitually calm expression firmly in place, "The request was quite simple. I don't see the need to repeat it." And also, he didn't want to. He'd been nervous enough the first time.  
  
"You want me to have dinner with you?" Annabelle inquired.  
  
He sighed in a slightly bored manner. It was easier for him if she didn't know exactly how tense he was.  
  
"If I had known you were going to take this long to simply comprehend the proposal I would have brought a book."  
  
The confusion turned to puzzlement, "Why?"  
  
Now it was Ezra's turn to frown.  
  
"The remark was entirely mordant," he explained, "I was simply implying that in the time it has so far taken for you to reach your conclusion I could have worked my way through at least three quarters of Shakespeare's' finest works."  
  
"Not the book, idiot," she said, rolling her eyes in that infuriatingly patronising manner, "Why are you asking me to dinner?"  
  
He was a little wounded by her suspicion, but knew it to be well founded. He wasn't exactly known for the purity of his actions. Clearly she no longer felt herself exempt from his trickery.  
  
"Well", he explained, "Since it was you who always insisted I celebrated my birthday in some manner, leaving me a feeling of necessity to do just that, I only feel it fair that you should partake in any such festivities."  
  
Well, that seemed a good enough reason, but still...."Just dinner?" she asked, the suspicion fading and being replaced by something warmer and a little more hopeful.  
  
"Perhaps a game of cards or two after," he said with a shrug, "I need a challenge to keep me on my toes."  
  
Annabelle smiled knowingly, "You just want to find out if I've learnt any new tricks."  
  
"Have you?" Ezra asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Annabelle was a highly proficient card player. She had taught him a thing or too when they'd first met. In return he had tried to teach her how to shoot straight. While she did indeed carry a weapon on occasion, in truth her aim was terrible. At fairly close range she was quite accurate, but too far out and she'd have trouble hitting the broad side of a barn. Despite his most valiant attempts however, her aim had not improved. He had always said he would teach her to shoot if it killed him. To which she had responded, with her aim it probably would.  
  
"You couldn't tell if I had," she said with a satisfied smile, knowing it was true, "And besides, don't you have a reputation to defend? It would be terribly embarrassing for you to lose."  
  
Well, that was a challenge if ever he heard one.  
  
"And you're so confident of vanquishing me?"  
  
"My dear Ezra," she said, shaking her head, not realising how the term of endearment flooded him with a warm rush of emotion, "I know all your tells."  
  
The warmth suddenly turned to something akin to outrage. "I don't have any tells!" he blurted, sounding most indignant at the suggestion.  
  
"Yes, you do," she said with a smile, knowing what an affront to him that was, "And don't bother asking what they are because I have no intention of telling you."  
  
Ezra smiled, a mite hysterically, looking a little paler.  
  
"I don't have tells," he stated again, a little less certainly, "I know I don't."  
  
Annabelle's smile widened even further at his evident confusion. Poor dear. She had just turned his world slightly askew.  
  
"You do. Absolutely positively," she said firmly before adding an explanation, "People pick things up when you spend a lot of time looking at someone."  
  
Ezra looked at sharply at her, not meaning to have such a reaction to that statement but unable to help it. She always said she enjoyed watching him play. That something about his dexterous, soft fingers enchanted her. He took an involuntary inhale of breath as the thought reminded him of more intimate memories. He quickly shook them away, concentrating on the moment at hand.  
  
"So," he asked, sounding just a little flustered, "Do you accept?"  
  
She looked at him carefully for a moment, clearly asking that question of herself. Then she nodded sharply. "Eight o'clock. And if you're late, I might just change my mind."

She turned on her heels and headed smartly back into the Clarion feeling ridiculously like some kind of sixteen year old debutant.

To her relief, Mary didn't question her about what he had wanted, but instead looked at her with a frown.

"You know something about business, right?" she asked.

Annabelle nodded, a little confused at the query, "Enough to get by."

"Could you read this?", Mary asked, holding out a sheet of paper, "And tell me what you think."

Annabelle took the paper and read it as requested.

"Well," she said with a shrug as she handed it back, "Behind all that jargon and nonsensically flowery sentences, it appears this is an offer to buy you out."

"That's what I thought," Mary said with an angry sigh, ripping up the offending letter, "It's the third I've had from Mr P Harper, whoever he is. He doesn't seem to want to give up."


	8. Part Eight

**Part Eight**  
  
Billy Travis peered nervously into the stable. He knew he shouldn't be here. His ma would be so cross with him if she realised what he was doing. How many times had she told him that horses were dangerous? Even his grandma, who could usually be relied on to allow him to do what he wanted, would never let him near one alone. But the other boys had dared him and he didn't want to be seen as a coward.  
  
They were watching him from across the street, making sure he didn't head off anywhere else. His challenge was to sneak in and take the huge horse shoe which hung up at the back. Yosemite had told them that it once belonged to the horse of a great warrior, who had slain a hundred men single handed. The horse had apparently been twice the size of the tallest man. Billy wasn't sure whether or not he believed the story, but it still must've been a pretty big horse.  
  
Slipping through the crack in the door, Billy held his breath. He didn't think anyone was in here, but if he was caught.....The horses snorted a little at the sound of movement, but they didn't seem particularly alarmed. A little boy was hardly a threat.  
  
As he made his way across the soft hay floor, Billy made sure he kept a wide berth of Mr Standish's horse. He had seen even the large and tough Yosemite have problems with it. Truth be know, Billy was quite scared of the animal. Fortunately its stall was no where near where he needed to go. Vin's mount Peso was adjacent to the rear, and that animal was far more docile.  
  
Tip-toeing quickly across, he climbed on top of an up turned trough, having to stretch to even get his fingertips on the horse shoe. If only he was a few inches taller....  
  
He froze in his scrabbling when a noise, too loud in the relative peace of the livery, came to his ears.  
  
Voices.  
  
For a horrible moment he thought he was about to be discovered and he jolted in fright, managing to knock the horse shoe off of its hook. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, but Billy was more concerned with what he could hear. The voices were in fact coming from outside. The men must be in the alley behind the livery.  
  
"You seen 'er?" one asked, in gruff tones.  
  
The second man's voice was a little softer and more nervy. As if he was afraid of his companion. "Yep. She's staying in one of the hotel's - Virgina's."  
  
"That stage she were on was heading to Ridge City, weren't it?" the first asked in a little confusion.  
  
"Yeah. I'm guessing she's waiting for the next one to take her over."  
  
"Where is she now?" he demanded.  
  
"I dunno. I didn't wanna follow 'er around. Might draw too much attention." There was a small pause, and Billy guessed that the other man didn't look happy at this because the second one quickly added, "She won't be leaving 'fore tonight though. Stage don't come in for a couple a days yet."  
  
"We don't have a couple a days," the first said in clear irritation - and maybe a little concern - "Boss wants her back now. We'll take 'er tonight. Do it quiet an' wit a bit o' luck, no one will notice till morning. We'll be long gone by then."  
  
Inside the stable, Billy scrambled to get out. The horse shoe lay on the floor, forgotten.  
  
--  
  
Ezra glanced approvingly over Annabelle's form once more as she turned to signal the waitress, ordering a second bottle of wine. It was hardly a surprise Buck had taken a liking to her. Any sane man would.  
  
And with her appearance this evening, he was rather glad the errant ladies man wasn't about. Who knows what he might do if he caught him looking at her.  
  
The dress she had chosen was one he hadn't seen before. With his eye for fine haberdashery, Annabelle had often left it to him to pick out clothes for her. She had reasoned that he was the one who was going to be watching her wearing them - might as well get something he liked. Besides, she had never been very good at making frivolous decisions.  
  
It seemed she had learnt a thing or two from him though, because the crimson dress, trimmed with black lace, was a remarkably fine ensemble. The colour complimented the darkness of her hair and eyes, whilst the cut was flattering over her figure.  
  
Himself, he had gone for simple black this evening, with a silver/grey waistcoat and pinstripe shirt. A gentleman should always wear black when meeting with a lady, so as to be certain not to clash with what she wore. Also, he seemed to recall Annabelle once saying he looked very handsome in black - that might have influenced his decision just a little.  
  
The waitress made her way over and Ezra flicked his gaze back from Annabelle to the table. He didn't want her to know how very alluring he found her.  
  
He sighed in frustration at the thought. They always played these games. Neither wanted the other to seem to have too much influence or power over them. For him, it was because he was wary of being too attached to people. In general, he expected them to do others over and con them in any way they could. It was growing up with his mother that did it. If he brought into what Annabelle said too readily, and she turned out to be simply toying with him, it was far easier to walk away with dignity when you seemed to care less.  
  
And her? Ezra guessed it was a spark of independence that she didn't care to lose. She had always stated firmly that she would never marry - a promise she had broken twice already. Her eldest brother, Jake, had fondly teased her about how she evidently couldn't live without a man. He'd only meant the comments in jest, but they had riled her, and she had argued that she was not reliant on men, their attentions, their money or their company in any way.  
  
Ezra inwardly sighed again - it seemed they'd spent half of their time together trying to show the world that they would be content without one another. Yet, when that had come to a reality, the truth was rather different.  
  
"A penny for them?" Annabelle asked, softly, breaking his reverie.  
  
Ezra looked up, "Excuse me?"  
  
"Your thoughts," she said, with a gentle smile, "Where were you just then?"  
  
"Somewhere I would like to become a stranger to," he said, cryptically, before hastily changing the subject, "To be honest, my dear, I have a confession I feel compelled to make."  
  
She looked at him curiously.  
  
"My motives for asking you here tonight were not entirely laid out when the invitation was given. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"It depends," she said, pausing to sip at her wine, "On what surprise you intend springing on me now."  
  
He smiled, "Close your eyes."  
  
"Ezra..." she warned, looking distinctly worried.  
  
"Indulge me," he insisted.  
  
She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. Ezra reached into his pocket and retrieved something, holding it forward and tapping it on Annabelle's nose. She jumped a little and opened her eyes.  
  
"Oh lord...." she whispered softly, taking the ring from Ezra's fingers, "I thought I'd lost this. Where did you find it?"  
  
"It had somehow manoeuvred itself into my hat. Clonked me on the head quite nicely when I put it on."  
  
Ezra watched as Annabelle turned the ring over in her hands again, evidently pleased to see it. It was the ring he had shown to Lester Banks - the one he had said he kept in hope of one day finding the future Mrs Standish. In fact, he just kept it in hope of one day finding the current Mrs Standish and returning it to her.  
  
It had once belonged to his grandmother - a woman he had only met on two occasions, once when he was four and once at the age of twelve. The second time, she'd been on her death bed and Maude had taken him to see her out of some waning sense of duty. She certainly had no desire to see her mother herself. The two of them had never seen eye to eye.  
  
He remembered the third night he was there, his grandmother had asked him to her room and had preceded to tell him the story of how she had met his grandfather. He had been the doctor treating her younger brother's broken leg. She spoke of how she bribed her brother with confectionary so that he would insist that his leg still needed treatment, allowing the doctor to continue in his visits.  
  
At the end of the tale, she had produced the ring. Apparently his grandfather had brought it for her as a gift - a token of love. He had been killed in riding accident before he ever had the chance to give it to her. It had been found amongst his possessions after the funeral.  
  
His grandmother had told him that the ring was meant to be given from one person to another as an act of love. A destiny it had not yet fulfilled. She had placed it in Ezra's hand, making him promise that when he found someone he loved, he would give it to her. She'd made him promise.  
  
The next morning, she had died.  
  
He had given Annabelle the ring as a gift on the very day they had made their finally transaction and he had repaid the money he'd owed her. At the time he believed he would likely never see her again. Their deal had come to an end and she was already packing. He had never told her what the ring represented, just that it was something for her to remember him by. And the fact that she agreed to wear it meant something to him. He had fulfilled his promise to his grandmother.  
  
A day later he had done something rash. Proposed, as she was preparing to catch her train, rushed off her feet and only half listening to him. She'd turned so pale he thought she was going to faint for the first and only time he knew of. He'd gone to grab her by the shoulders to hold her steady, but before he had a chance, she'd pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He'd guessed that that was an affirmation.  
  
That afternoon he'd brought her an emerald engagement ring and a gold wedding band. Ridiculous really since their engagement had lasted barely twenty-four hours. Still he wanted to do things properly.  
  
Out of the three though, Annabelle always said she preferred the diamond. Which made him wonder if perhaps she did know what it represented after all.  
  
"Thank you," she said, genuinely touched by the gesture, as she slipped it back onto her finger, "I can't believe you still have it."  
  
Have it? He carried it in his pocket every day.  
  
"Well, I was a little careless with it once," he admitted, deciding to ignore the sentiments that were weaving through his mind.  
  
She looked at him in askance, and he squirmed a little uncomfortably.  
  
"I'll tell you later."  
  
--  
  
Mary frowned as she paused outside Billy's door. He'd been fidgety since he'd come in from playing that afternoon. She'd scolded him at dinner for not being able to sit still. Now he was peering out the window, just resting his nose on the shelf, as if he was afraid someone would spot him there.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Billy jumped, despite the softness of her voice.  
  
"Nothing," he said hurriedly, quickly tucking himself under the covers again.  
  
Mary stepped into the room and sat herself on his bed, stroking his hair softly. She gave him her 'do you think I'm going to believe that?' look.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked, "What were you looking at?"  
  
Billy found himself torn between a wish to tell her what he'd heard and a wish not to get in trouble for being in the livery. He'd been weighing up the two all afternoon. As soon as he heard what those men had said, he had ignored the shouts of the other boys and had run straight home, meaning to tell her right away. But he had found her in a very irritable mood which was not being helped by the printing press misbehaving again. He was sure she'd been furious if she found out where he'd been and so he had kept quite. He was still worried though - what if something bad happened? It'd be his fault if he didn't tell.  
  
"You can tell me," she said frowning deeply as she saw his uncertainty and concern. Something was obviously quite wrong.  
  
He took a deep breath before deciding. Then he rushed straight into it.  
  
"I think something bad's gonna happen."


	9. Part Nine

**Part Nine**

"So where you from, Miss Annabelle?" Nathan asked as he checked the cards he'd been dealt and immediately folded. The hand was totally useless and it made him briefly wonder if Ezra was stacking the deck.  
  
Annabelle smiled as she checked her own hand and promptly threw a few coins into the pot.

"My family are originally from New York, but I don't really consider it home. We travelled a lot. Especially when pa brought the ship."  
  
"Ya got any brothers and sisters?"  
  
"Two brothers. Jake and Daniel. They're both older than me."  
  
"What do they do?"  
  
"Mr Jackson," Ezra intoned lightly, "This is meant to be a jovial card game, not an interrogation."  
  
"Ah, hell, Ez - I'm just interested, that's all," Nathan soothed, "Any woman who'd marry you has gotta be worth talking to. If only to check her head's on straight."  
  
Annabelle and Josiah laughed, Ezra tossing them all a dry look.  
  
They'd moved to the saloon after dinner at Annabelle's request. Ezra, who didn't really like his personal affairs put under public scrutiny, was relieved to see just Josiah and Nathan there. The preacher had asked if they'd join them and Annabelle had accepted before Ezra had the opportunity to back out.  
  
Nathan had clearly been curious about her, asking too many questions for Ezra's liking. Josiah had also obviously taken an interest, but he had restricted his examination to simple observation. He was constantly watching how they reacted to one another, and no number of forceful stares from an uncomfortable Ezra, seemed to deter him.  
  
Ezra guessed that Annabelle had also noticed the scrutiny she was under, but she seemed to be taking it all in her stride.  
  
As Nathan continued his very thorough investigation, Ezra felt a tingle up his spine. It was a familiar feeling. The one he got when someone was sneaking up on him. That feeling - and the quick action of his derringer - had saved his life on more than one occasion. Glancing up curiously, his senses picked out Buck looking at them over the bat wing doors. It seemed as if he was debating whether or not to join them.  
  
Ezra didn't know if there was something hostile in is own gaze, but the stern expression on the other man's face seemed to darken. Then he nodded cordially and walked off.  
  
"Ezra!"  
  
That was Annabelle's sharp voice, turning his attention back to the table. He looked a little lost.  
  
"Are you in or out?" she asked again, a little irritably.  
  
He glanced at his cards, and then threw some money into the pot.  
  
"You all right?" Nathan asked, bemused. It wasn't like Ezra to not concentrate during a poker game. In fact, most times it was hard to actually drag his attention away.  
  
"Fine," he replied lightly. He smiled at Annabelle, "Simply thinking of stories of such deplorable embarrassment that they should be sufficient to buy your silence concerning my darkest secrets."  
  
She rolled her eyes and shook her head.  
  
Nathan snorted a laugh, "Hell, Ez. I don't think I'd wanna know you're darkest secrets. Thing like that could scar a man for life. Right, Josiah?"  
  
The preacher had his thoughtful expression on, "The secrets of the soul are all dark, Brother Nathan."  
  
The gaze he had on Ezra made the gambler uncomfortable. Had he seen the small exchange between himself and Buck?  
  
Deciding not to let it concern him, he grinned right the way to his gold tooth, "Well, ladies and gentleman, it seems that Lady Luck - capricious creature that she is - has me in her favour tonight." He laid his straight flush out on the table and the others tossed their cards down in frustration.  
  
He pulled the pot towards him before gathering up the cards. Annabelle promptly snatched them from him.  
  
"I'll deal," she insisted.  
  
He tried to throw her an innocent expression, but he never really had been able to pull that one off.  
  
--  
  
Buck made his way across to the boardwalk outside the jail, irritably kicking up dust as he went. Ezra had been pricklier than a porcupine all day, but he thought he would have cooled down by now. Chris had reasoned that this was the guy's wife they were talking about. But Buck understood that. He had no intention of pursuing her. What annoyed him was Ezra's lack of trust. And that was real rich coming from the wayward gambler.  
  
JD was sitting outside the jail. It's only current occupant was a cowhand who'd got drunk and started a fight the night before. They'd decided that twenty-four hours in a cell would be plenty of time for him to sober up.  
  
As he walked up to join him, Chris and Vin also arrived having just returned from a patrol of the town.  
  
All three of them noticed Buck's uncharacteristically severe expression as he slumped heavily into the chair. It was Vin who spoke up.  
  
"Anything the matter, pard?" he asked, trying to make it sound offhand.  
  
"Just that Ezra's a pig-headed son of a bitch," Buck growled, "But that's his damn problem, not mine."  
  
"Still in a mood, huh?" Chris asked as he sat down next to his friend, Vin taking to leaning against a post.  
  
"He'll get over it," Vin smoothed.  
  
A small smile crossed Buck's face, "Yeah, I know. Just sometimes I'd really like to string him up by his b-".  
  
A loud, exaggerated coughing from JD drowned him out as Mary arrived. Buck looked a little uncomfortable. He hoped she hadn't heard him talking like that.  
  
"Gentlemen," she said as a hurried greeting.  
  
She was wearing an expression that Chris recognised all too well.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
--  
  
"A false leg?" Annabelle asked, with a little amazement. Having finally wrestled out of him the story of how he had nearly lost the ring that now sat safely on her finger once again, she found herself having a hard time believing him.  
  
Ezra shook his head with a ruefully smile, "I should have checked under the table."  
  
"Well," she said, grinning slightly, "I can understand why you didn't want to."  
  
He grimaced at such an unsavoury thought, shooting her a dry look. She laughed before continuing.  
  
"I take it he didn't removing his leg simply for the purpose of cheating at cards."  
  
Ezra shook his head, "No. Roulette."  
  
"Dangerous game."  
  
It wasn't all that late, but she was tired. She hadn't really slept all that well since arriving here and it was taking its toll. Announcing that she was going to retire, Ezra had offered to walk her back - as she knew he would. They'd bid farewell to Nathan and Josiah and left the saloon behind.  
  
She found Ezra's friends a rather unusual bunch. Buck and JD she had quickly grown fond of. They were kind, friendly and helpful. Although how a greenhorn like JD had made his way into such a group she wasn't sure. And Buck's flirting was a little more persistent than she personally cared for.  
  
Nathan was a man of strong convictions. While she knew Ezra wasn't the bigot many others his kind were, she found it a little strange that Nathan was so tolerant of him considering their backgrounds. Josiah was an enigma. Interesting and intelligent, but hard to fathom. There was clearly much more going on in that mind of his than he let on.  
  
Chris and Vin she only knew by sight. Mary had told her a little about each of them, but she hadn't felt right prying too much.  
  
From what she had gathered however, it was clear this Ezra wasn't quite the man she had married. A hired gun riding with six men he called friends, protecting a dusty little backwater town? If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it.  
  
She looked up as they reached the hotel entrance and stopped. Clear night tonight. Starlit and pretty. Almost too perfect. She hated perfect - it was only a matter of time before things went wrong.  
  
Ezra took her glance to mean something else.

"Ah, yes," he said, part jest part serious, "The hotel. Your sanctuary is at hand."  
  
"Ezra," she scolded softly, "You know me. If I'd deplored your company that much I would have rudely left hours ago. I don't do things because I have to. I do them because I want to. I'm selfish like that."  
  
For some reason this immediately made her think of her leaving. She hadn't wanted to do that, of course. It made her smile with embarrassment.

"I'm also a little stupid at times," she added.  
  
She paused for a moment before looking up to him with a regretful face, deciding that she should have said this a long time ago. An apology. She owed him that in the very least. The blame had been hers.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Ezra," she said quietly, "I should never have left in the way that I did. It was completely and utterly idiotic."  
  
Ezra bit his tongue for a moment. No, she shouldn't. Some nights he had lain there awake, flitting between worried to death about her and furious for her daring to put him through such a torment. But mostly he had just felt apologetic himself - sorry for even have considered effectively choosing his mother over her.  
  
"As far I'm concerned," he drawled quietly, "We are just two ridiculously stupid and stubborn creatures, who should never inflict themselves on anyone but each other."  
  
"Is that we you consider me?" she asked, a once forgotten glow suddenly twinkling in her eyes, "Some kind of affliction?"  
  
He smiled, not one his Cheshire Cat grins, but a proper smile, "One which I should not wish to be cured of. The side-effects are far too pleasant as I seem to recall."  
  
Her breath faltered just slightly. Why did he have to say things like that? Didn't he realise how unfair it was?  
  
Turning her resistance into a steely resolve, deciding she would not be as easy to persuade as all that, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Good night," she said firmly, turning to the hotel.  
  
Before she'd moved half a pace, arms which didn't have the strength - nor, if she was honest with herself, the willpower - to resist, wrapped their way around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" he asked, his voice low and husky.  
  
She felt her blood rush, her resolve hanging on by a thread. She'd caught him looking at her all night. She'd read the expression in his eyes perfectly. Even so, she wasn't prepared for what it felt like to be in his arms again. What it was liked to love and be loved in return.  
  
"Don't start quoting 'Romeo and Juliet' at me," she insisted, "You know I have a weakness for that play. It's an unfair advantage. A most gentlemanly thing to do."  
  
His smiled broadened, "Did my heart love till now, forswear it sight, for I ne'er saw true beauty till this night," he quoted, leaning closer.  
  
"Ezra," she warned, trying to find somewhere to put her hands that wasn't an invitation, "Stop it."  
  
He seemed to be on a roll now, "Arise fair Sun and kill the envious Moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou maid art far more fair than she."  
  
"I wish I'd never told you now!"  
  
He shot her a teasing grin, "I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far, As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I should adventure for such a merchandise".  
  
She couldn't help but laugh as he said the lines with an essence of dramatic flair, the actor in him coming out.  
  
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," she returned, playing him at his own game, "That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow."  
  
She managed to momentarily manoeuvre herself from his grasp, but she had forgotten how swift on his feet he was. He rounded her and caught her again before she made it to the door.  
  
"That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," he said, playing on the dramatic flair now, purposefully making her laugh.  
  
"Love is a smoke made with the fumes of sighs," she returned, almost stubbornly.  
  
The word 'love' coming from her lips seemed to turn him to seriousness again. He lifted her hand to his lips and left a lingering kiss.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand," he quoted, "This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My two lips brushing Pilgrims ready stand, To smooth the rough touch with a gentle kiss."  
  
She knew this part. It was perhaps her favourite. The lines came to her lips unbidden, "Good Pilgrim you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this, For saints have hands, that Pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy Palmers' kiss."  
  
The grip he had on her waist tightened, "Have not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too?"  
  
"Ay Pilgrim," her voice said in a whisper, "Lips that they must use in prayer."  
  
"Oh, then dear Saint," he said as his hand reached for her face, his thumb running softly over her bottom lip, "Let lips do what hands do, They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."  
  
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake," she replied, her arms finding their familiar way around his neck.  
  
"Then move not while my prayer's effect I take, Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd."  
  
His gaze flickered down to her lips and back up to her eyes, as if asking for permission. When she didn't move he took this as an affirmation and closed the gap between them.  
  
The first brush of his lips against hers was soft, almost experimental. As if he was afraid that too much too soon may be fatal. It was the softest, sweetest kiss she could ever remember. And when he pulled away after a few lingering moments she found herself almost subconsciously reaching to caress his cheek. She remembered this. How wonderful it had all felt. Her other hand had come to rest on his chest and even through the waistcoat and shirt she could feel his heart thudding like horse hooves.  
  
Well, she thought with a sigh as he leaned in to kiss her again, so much for her resolve. Infuriating man.  
  
She could just feel Ezra's slightly quickened breath on her lips when a cry split the air.  
  
"Ezra!"  
  
JD ran up to them, without realising what he was interrupting until he got too close. They could see his blush even in the unnatural moonlight.  
  
"Aw.....gee, Ezra, I'm sorry, but there's some trouble coming."  
  
Ezra's face was a picture of annoyance, "Well, Mr Dunne, surely there are enough people on hand to cover it. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm otherwise engaged at the moment."  
  
JD shook his head, "It's about you, Miss Annabelle. We gotta get you off the streets."


End file.
